Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It had been a couple of months since the newest Super Smash Brothers tournament had officially begun to much fanfare. Many viewers cheered the arrival of long-awaited newcomers such as King K. Rool from Crocodile Isle, Isabelle from the Animal Forest, and the sensational Incineroar from the Alola region. Even the conference that announced a humble Piranha Plant would join the battle was enough to bring plenty of attention for how utterly unexpected it was. Thus, the kickoff was a success, much to the happiness of all the participants.

Yet amidst all the glitz and glamor, there was another group of characters that went relatively unnoticed by the coverage. In fact, even some of the newer Smashers wouldn't be able to find them unless given directions. These individuals were known as Assist Trophies, people that would pop out of a mysterious capsule and use their skills to aid the Smashers. Although they didn't get nearly as much attention as the Smashers, their appearance was still appreciated by all.

But for some Assist Trophies, the feeling was not mutual…

Beep! Beep! Beep!

"Ungh…"

With a pink, globular hand, Bomberman shut his alarm off and rubbed his eyes. It was only 7:30? He regretted setting his alarm this early. If only Dr. Wright didn't feel the need to hold those meetings every morning…

But griping wouldn't change the fact that he still had to get up, so get up he did, rolling out of bed and checking his internal components. All systems seemed to be running smoothly. With that in mind, he walked out of his bedroom and into the main lounge.

Two other Assist Trophies were already sitting there. One of them, a smartly-dressed pink rabbit, turned and waved to the robot. "Hey! Good morning, Bomberman!"

Bomberman waved sleepily to the rabbit. "Morning, Baito. You seem energetic today."

"Yeah, I am!" replied the rabbit. "I mean, it just sorta sunk in that wow, I'm actually here! Among all these heroes! They're all here! I'm here!"

"Now, now, not all the Smashers are heroes, per se," replied the other Assist Trophy, a blue vixen named Krystal wielding a staff. "Honestly, it's a wonder how they let that Ridley fellow in…"

"Oh, right..." replied Baito, rubbing the back of his head. "But still! I get to be alongside all these icons! It's amaaazing!"

Bomberman smiled, even if he technically didn't have a mouth. Both of them had been announced as Assist Trophies at the same time. While Bomberman had gotten an interview, and was subsequently offered an assist position, to his knowledge, Baito had never even sent in an application. It was only natural that he would still feel this excited, even a couple months after the tournament started.

The door burst open, interrupting the robot's train of thought. An orange creature with an apron and a toque stumbled in, looking very tired indeed. "Man, I'm beat..." he muttered to no one in particular.

"Good morning, Chef Kawasaki!" chirped Bomberman. "Uh… you okay? You look tired…"

"I've had to cook breakfast for all fifty-nine of you. And some of you don't even eat!" He slumped against the wall. "The food's ready in the kitchen. Man, I need a break…"

"Yes, thank you, Kawasaki, that will do," came another voice. A short man with tall green hair and a brown suit stepped into the room. "I suppose we must hold our morning meeting over breakfast today." He pushed a small button on the wall. "Good morning, assistants! Rise and shine! We've got another busy day ahead of us!"

One by one, the Assist Trophies filed into the main lounge, even those that didn't have bodies to speak of. Some of them looked more tired than others, with Riki still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Must Doctor wake up sidekicks so early?" asked the Nopon. "Riki was having wonderful dream about Wifeypon…"

"Now, Riki," said Dr. Wright, "we must get up bright and early if we are to assist the fighters."

"The fighters…" Chef Kawasaki's eyes widened. "Oh, no! I've gotta cook breakfast for the Smashers!" He scurried out of the main lounge, muttering something about needing plenty of butter.

"...Right, then. At any rate, today's morning meeting will come to order. We'll begin with our roll call." Dr. Wright took out a clipboard. "Akira?"

"Here," said the martial artist.

"Alucard?"

"I am present."

And so, Dr. Wright went down the list of names, from Ashley to Ghirahim, to Guile, to Krystal, all the way down to Zero. As the Assist Trophies started in on their food, Dr. Wright scanned his clipboard.

"Let's see, what else… Ah! Today's matches are few and far between, so I suppose it's an easy day." Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"However…!" continued the man. "There are still some minor situations that need to be dealt with. For starters… Jeff, some of the transporters are on the fritz. Might wanna fix that. And Phosphora, a certain… incident with Pichu has resulted in an outage in the East Wing. I trust you can handle that. And as you all know by now, you must be prepared in case you are summoned for a battle. And… that should be it for today! Very good. Meeting concluded!"

The Assist Trophies finished their breakfast and filed off in different directions. Bomberman had nowhere else to be, so he simply stayed in the lounge with some of the others. Baito got up to pour himself some coffee.

"Oh, man, I hope I get summoned today!" said Baito, mixing in the cream. "It sure beats standing around in the shop all day…"

"Ah, yes," replied Krystal, opening a newspaper to read. "You're still running the shop, aren't you?"

"Yeah!" affirmed Baito. "I'm in charge of the Trophy Shop! Kinda weird how they still call it that when they don't sell trophies anymore… But I still get plenty of business! Like, just a couple of days ago, Mario showed up! In my shop!"

Bomberman stared out the window, only partially paying attention to the rabbit's recollection of his brush with fame. He remembered when he had first heard of the Super Smash Brothers tournament. He'd sent in many applications, but only now could he score an interview. Even though he would have liked to be a real fighter, he still considered being here at all a huge honor.

"I mean, I got to meet Mario! The real Super Mario himself!" Baito continued. "Man, being an Assist Trophy is great!"

"Wah, you say that now, but give it a couple of years. You'll change your tune."

Everyone turned to the speaker, a tall, lanky, and unpleasant-looking man with a crooked mustache. The man scowled miserably into his omelette. "Believe me, the novelty wears off quickly."

"Oh, hi, Waluigi!" said Baito with a cheerful wave. "What makes you say that?"

"I'm-a saying this whole Assist Trophy racket is a sham!" declared Waluigi. "They invited almost everyone from my world, even Daisy and some random weed! And to make matters worse, now Luigi's gonna be with Daisy all the time! It's-a not fair!" Waluigi accentuated this with a pound of the table.

"Oh, stop griping already," said Gray Fox, a cyborg wielding a sword. "In a sense, aren't we all fighters, if only for a fleeting moment?"

"Easy for you to say, Robo Ninja," retorted Waluigi. "You've only been here twice! Once you've been here long enough, you'll see what a sham this whole thing is."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but the purple guy's right," said Samurai Goroh, a portly but muscular man with a katana of his own. "How come we're stuck in this dump while the fighters get all the spotlight?"

"D-dump?!" Baito looked thunderstruck. "W-whaddya mean? This place—" he gestured to the room they were in— "is amazing! Aren't you glad you're here at all?"

Waluigi and Samurai Goroh stared down at the little rabbit. "Say, uh, how many tournaments have you been in exactly?" asked Goroh.

"Oh, well, this is actually my first one!" replied Baito, innocent smile on his face.

Both men looked at Baito with a mixture of pity and superiority. "Yeah, that figures. You're new here, so everything seems all new and fresh," said Samurai Goroh. "But lemme tell you, the shine comes off the apple real quick." The samurai turned to go, muttering under his breath.

Waluigi also got up. "I'm outta here, too. I've gotta go plug up Luigi's door with syrup. Have fun languishing in obscurity for the rest of your lives, losers! Waaa ha ha ha!" And with those words, the purple-clad man stomped away.

Krystal huffed. "What's their problem? You'd think they'd be a little nicer to the novices…" Several other Assist Trophies grumbled their agreement. "Ignore them, Baito," she said kindly. "They're just envious that they're not important enough to be Smashers."

"It's—it's okay, you guys," said Baito. "I'm just glad to be here at all! I'm perfectly happy running the Trophy Shop, and—" The rabbit checked his watch— "The shop opens soon! I gotta go! See ya!" He dashed out the door, waving hurried goodbyes to everyone.

Bomberman glanced around the room. Krystal was busying herself with her paper, while Gray Fox was gazing out the window, seemingly lost in thought. Neither of them seemed to be waiting for him to speak, so he figured he might as well take his leave. Without another word, he slipped out the door.

Bomberman meandered down the halls, not exactly sure of where he was going. To be honest, he didn't really mind. The Smash Mansion was big enough for an adventure, yet small enough that he'd always end up somewhere. Sort of like the mazes back home. It was comfortable like that.

The robot passed by the cafeteria, where several of the Smashers were wrapping up their breakfast. Chef Kawasaki stumbled out the door, looking even more exhausted than earlier.

"Ooogh…"

"Er, hey, Kawasaki," greeted Bomberman. "Everything all right?"

"All right?!" asked the cook. The bags under his eyes hung low. "I've just had to cook breakfast for over seventy Smashers! And two of them are Kirby and Dedede! I mean, seriously, who asks for eighteen helpings of pancakes?!" He slumped against the wall. "I really hope I don't get summoned today… After the morning I've had, if I go out there I'll be tenderized like Bowser's favorite steak!"

"Oh, geez, uh… that's rough," replied Bomberman. "What about lunch?"

"Please don't remind me," said Kawasaki. "I know this sounds weird coming from me, but right now the last thing I want to think about is food."

"Oh, sorry." Bomberman sat down against the wall next to him. The two sat against the wall in silence, watching the world go by.

By now, several of the Smashers were filing out of the cafeteria. As they passed, the two assistants could hear a voice (they guessed Pit's, based on the enthusiasm) chatting about the day's matches. "Oh, boy! I've got a match against Samus today!" said the angel. "This is gonna be great!"

Kawasaki huffed in thought. "That angel kid, I tell you… Don't get me wrong, he's a good kid, but he eats like a… thing that… eats a lot. You know, I thought I had a pretty metaphor in mind, but I lost it."

"Mmm." Bomberman nodded. He knew what that was like. "...Hey, Kawasaki, can I ask you a question?"

"Go for it."

"Do you like being an Assist Trophy?"

Kawasaki blinked. "Hunh?"

"I mean, do you like being on the sidelines?"

Kawasaki pondered on the robot's words. "Well, I can't really say I hate it," he said, closing his eyes. "At the very least, it's a break from cooking! Why do you ask?"

"Oh! Uh… I was just curious," said Bomberman quickly.

If the cook was suspicious of his answer, he didn't show it. "Suit yourself." There was a long silence.

Bomberman sat there as the last of the Smashers left the cafeteria. A thought occurred to him. "Hey, Chef, I—"

Kawasaki was fast asleep, the bustle of the morning clearly taking its toll on him. "Uh, okay," said the robot, getting up to go. "I'll just… leave you to it."

Chef Kawasaki said nothing, for he was still fast asleep.

"...Right. I'll… see you around, I guess." Bomberman slowly got up and walked off.

The moment Bomberman was out of earshot, Chef Kawasaki awoke with a start. "A horse! He eats like a horse!"

He looked around. No one was there.

"...I guess I should start on lunch."

Bomberman walked down a flight of stairs as he continued his journey. He wondered if the day's matches had started yet. Probably not, based on the silence coming from the stages. He wondered if he would be summoned today. If he was, he hoped he'd get to help someone heroic like Link or Kirby, or a fellow robot like R.O.B. or Mega Man. Or maybe Snake or Simon or Richter, some of his colleagues! He smiled as he remembered their first collaboration, a fighting game much like the one they were in. And then they'd all later appear in one of his own projects! Those were good times indeed.

But in this tournament, things were different. They were all in the same place, yes, but things weren't quite the same. With all the training Snake and Simon needed to get in, they barely had time to chat with him, only managing passing hellos at best. And while Snake's return was highly praised by all, and Simon's inclusion was met with plenty of fanfare, as an Assist Trophy, Bomberman didn't get that exposure.

Waluigi and Samurai Goroh's words crept back into his head. This whole Assist Trophy racket is a sham...

How come we're stuck in this dump while the fighters get all the spotlight...

The shine comes off the apple real quick…

Have fun languishing in obscurity for the rest of your lives, losers!

Bomberman shook his head. This was no time to get all mopey! He could be summoned at any moment! And anyways, it was just like Krystal said, those guys were just bitter about not becoming official fighters!

...But then again, they'd been Assist Trophies since the whole program was created. Didn't they have a right to be bitter?

"One! Two! That's it! Keep the onslaught going and don't let up!"

The sharp words snapped the robot out of his brooding. In his wandering, he had reached the training room, where his fellow assistants were wailing on a set of red punching bags.

Bomberman peeked inside. A tall, muscular man with a flattop haircut was instructing a small creature with pointy ears, a red echidna with dreadlocks, and another man with curly, light blue hair and incredibly long, spring-like arms. Together, they practiced their moves on the punching bags, sending them wobbling back and forth. Bomberman was in awe at the sight.

The spring-armed man caught notice of the robot watching them. He retracted his stretched-out arm to wave. "Oh, hey, Bombe—"

As he took his eyes off the punching bag, it swung back like a pendulum, cuffing the man in the side of his head and knocking him flat to the ground.

The pointy-eared fellow and the echidna paused to watch him fall as the flattop man pinched the bridge of his nose. "Spring Man, what have I told you time and time again? Distractions on the battlefield can mean death. A split-second is the difference between a win and a loss!"

"Come on, Guile," retorted Spring Man, peeling himself off the floor. "It's not even that serious. It's just a couple of friendly matches, right?"

"Maybe so," replied Guile, "but as an Assist Trophy, you're expected to give it your all to help the Smashers in battle. And in the training room, it's Coach Guile to you." His eyes fell on Bomberman. "Ah, Bomberman. You here for training?"

"Oh, no, don't mind me! I'm just here to watch! Besides," he said with a wink, "I much prefer a more explosive style of battle!" He took out one of his own bombs to accentuate his pun.

Nobody laughed.

"...Never mind." Bomberman embarrassedly put away his bomb.

"Now then, where were we? Knuckle Joe! Knuckles! Spring Man! Back to drills! One-two! Uppercut!"

The combatants went back to their drills as Bomberman leaned against the wall. Amidst the sounds of their fists pounding the punching bags, he could hear Knuckles say, "Y'know, they actually offered me a spot as a Smasher."

"Did they, now?" replied Knuckle Joe, hitting a punching bag square in the center.

"Oh, yeah," said Knuckles, clobbering his own bag. "Thing is, they had me down as an Echo of Sonic, and ya know, that just didn't fit me. So I turned 'em down, rather have the Assist Trophy title."

"Mm-hmm." From the sound of it, Knuckle Joe found the echidna's claims hard to believe.

As the two of them continued to chat, Bomberman watched them practice with dwindling interest. He was about to leave when he bumped into someone at the entrance. "Oh, pardon me, I… wait a minute, I think I know you!"

Staring down at Bomberman was a young boy, looking no older than 17, with messy blond hair, a red chest plate under a blue tunic, and a sword on his back. He looked confused at Bomberman's statement. "You… you do?"

"Yeah!" replied Bomberman excitedly. "You're Isaac from Vale! It's great to finally meet you!" He extended an arm in greeting.

Isaac's eyes went wide as he shook it. "Y-you actually recognize me? Gee, that's… that's rare," he said, rubbing the back of his head.

"Yeah, I know you!" said Bomberman. "A lot of people have been talking about you! Are you here for training?"

"Nah," said Isaac, leaning against the wall next to the robot. "I'm not one for hand-to-hand combat. Unless, of course, it's Psynergy." He conjured a large, magical green hand to accentuate his pun.

Bomberman laughed. "You know, I just said the same thing a couple minutes ago!"

Isaac's little pun led into a long conversation, the two of them comparing combat maneuvers and trading stories of their amazing adventures. Right around the same time, Guile's crew was on break, and Knuckles was wrapping up his somewhat-tall tale of how he had graciously accepted the role of Assist Trophy.

"At any rate," concluded Knuckles, "even if I am just an Assist Trophy, I could still take on half the clowns walkin' around here. Ah, to be a real Smasher…"

Bomberman and Isaac paused to listen to the echidna's bragging. The robot shook his head. "Get a load of this guy, saying he was almost a fighter. I betcha he didn't even send in an application…"

Isaac's expression grew dark. "Yeah, I bet," he mumbled.

The sudden change in mood was not lost on Bomberman. "Hey, uh, you okay?" he asked tentatively.

The Venus Adept turned away. "It's… it's fine."

"You don't sound fine."

The little robot was very perceptive, Isaac had to admit. "When they first announced this whole tournament, I sent in a bunch of applications, and I even got an interview. Do you remember the Fighter Ballot?"

"Yeah," Bomberman recalled. "If I remember correctly, you had a lot of support there, right?"

Isaac nodded. "I got a bunch of support in the media and from the fans. Anyways, they announced this tournament, I got the interview and a couple months passed with no word. At that point, I was so sure I was gonna get in. There was even a rumor that I was chosen. Me and a couple of other guys. But then…" The boy paused. Bomberman waited, saying nothing but knowing exactly what came next.

"Then they aired that conference, and guess who was one of the first Assist Trophies they showed?" As low as Isaac's voice was, the bitterness that flowed out was palpable.

Bomberman was silent for a while. "I'm… I'm sorry, Isaac. I know how much that must've—"

"No, no, it's okay. Really," he said, looking at the expression on Bomberman's face. "It's just… I was so close, you know?"

There was a long silence. Even Guile seemed to pity him. Then Bomberman spoke up. "Hey, I know that must really suck, but… look at it this way! From what I hear, not all the Assist Trophies from past tournaments made it back! The higher-ups must've seen something in you! A-and now that there's a lot of uproar over your status, you're pretty much a shoo-in for next time!"

Bomberman's words didn't completely raise the boy's spirits, but they definitely helped. Isaac managed a small smile. "...Thanks. I guess I needed to hear that."

"Alright, guys, break's over," said Guile, interrupting the moment. "Matches are starting soon. Back to your drills!"

"Yes, sir!" said Knuckle Joe, Spring Man, and Knuckles, the three of them jumping to their feet. Without delay, they were back in front of the punching bags, assaulting them with a barrage of punches.

"Oh, the matches are starting soon!" said Bomberman, jumping to his feet. "I'd better get ready just in case! I'll see you around!"

"Yeah, you, too," said Isaac, his smile just a little wider. The last thing Bomberman saw as he ran off was Isaac looking contemplatively at a spare punching bag.

Bomberman ran into the first room with a television he found, a billiard room, where several Smashers and Assist Trophies alike were gathered. He wedged himself into a seat, right between Bowser and the Wii Fit Trainer. The former stared down his snout at the robot and snorted. "Hey, uh, who let this reject in?"

Bomberman only rolled his eyes. He'd heard many things about the Koopa King, very few of them good. "Don't be so rude, Bowser," said Wii Fit Trainer. "Like it or not, he's still part of this tournament."

"A part of this?" Bowser looked falsely taken aback. "He's an Assist Trophy. They're the rejects, the side characters. He's about as much a part of this tournament as that chump Alfonzo." There was some scattered laughter at Bowser's response.

Bomberman felt his skin grow hot. How dare he claim he's not part of the tournament! And as if he wasn't standing right there! He was overcome with the temptation to pull out one of his strongest bombs and blow that creep away. But he was quickly reminded of the upcoming match. Now more than ever, he desperately hoped to be summoned. Keeping his voice calm, he asked, "So, who's today's match between?"

"It's a one-stock match. Marth vs. Duck Hunt on the Garden of Hope," said Wii Fit Trainer. Bomberman had heard of Marth. A warrior prince from the land of Altea, incredibly popular among fans for his skill with a sword. Meanwhile, the Duck Hunt team, consisting of a dog, a duck, and an unseen sharpshooter, was not known for their fighting prowess, but the dog's laughter and projectile explosives could really get under an opponent's skin. He didn't care which of them summoned him, as long as he could participate.

"Ooh, the match is starting!" came a voice in the crowd. Everyone stopped their conversations, their attention now directed towards the television. Sure enough, the fighters had warped onto the arena, the music swelling. From a commentator's box far away, Master Hand began the countdown. "3… 2… 1… Go!"

The room erupted into cheers as the Smashers charged at each other. The dog grinned as he threw a clay pigeon at Marth, who put up his shield as it dropped to the floor. The prince leapt up towards the animals, bringing his sword down on the duck, who flew out of the way just in time.

As the battle raged on, everyone in the room was glued to the screen, cheering whenever blows were exchanged. Only Bomberman remained silent, hoping and hoping that an Assist Trophy would spawn. Then he'd get his chance. He'd show them.

Just then, the room gasped, snapping Bomberman back to reality. Marth had launched Duck Hunt by throwing a Spiny Shell at him. Was the match over already? No, wait, Duck Hunt was already falling back down to the stage. Marth gripped his sword, preparing to launch the animals once and for all.

Then it happened.

An Assist Trophy, that wonderful, rainbow-colored capsule, appeared a couple feet away from Marth. Bomberman's breath hitched as Marth turned to notice it. This is it, he thought. Time to show 'em what I'm made of!

But just before Marth could pick it up, the dog kicked a tin can filled with gunpowder at the prince, detonating it on top of his head. Marth sailed away as the dog chased after him.

No, no, no! thought Bomberman. Don't knock him out yet!

The dog watched as Marth tried to recover, laughing at him the whole while. The duck pecked at the dog's head to get his attention. It pointed at the Assist Trophy. The dog grinned in response, bounding toward the colorful capsule.

Bomberman's breathing grew faster and faster. Come on, come on, come on…

The moment the dog's paw touched the item, Bomberman felt a strange feeling in his back. His hands started to glow, then his arms, spreading towards the rest of his body. Yes, yes, yes! This is my moment of glory!

The robot floated up in the air for a couple moments, then disappeared in a flash of light.

When Bomberman opened his eyes again, he found himself standing on what felt like… porcelain? He looked down. It really was porcelain after all.

"Woof!"

Bomberman got down from the large pot he was on. There was his summoner, wagging his tail and gazing at the robot expectantly. Bomberman reached out to pet the dog. He was rather cute when he wasn't laughing at someone.

The duck quacked sharply, getting both of their attention. Marth had already made his way back onto the stage and was charging towards them.

Quick as a whip, Bomberman pulled out a bomb, its fuse lit and ready to go. "Time to prove my worth! I'm gonna have a blast today!"

Nobody laughed.

Bomberman paid them no mind, as he was already placing down bombs and deftly dodging their explosions. But for every bomb that exploded on Marth, there was one that the prince dodged, slashing at the robot at every opportunity. It came to a head when Marth hit him with a wicked overhead slash, sending him sailing into a stick on the other side of the stage.

His head swimming, Bomberman peeled himself off the ground. He struggled to steady himself. He was fine, he was fine! He could still fight! Look, Marth was retreating! He could still win this!

...Duck Hunt was also retreating, the duck picking up the dog with his wings to fly away. Odd.

A bubble floated past his head. Bomberman looked at it curiously. Then another bubble came, and another, and another…

The ground began to shake. A thought occurred to Bomberman. What had they said about the Garden of Hope again?

A shadow fell over the robot. He slowly turned around…

A giant, sickly green crab was scuttling across the stage, staring down at Bomberman with blank yellow eyes. And it wasn't showing any signs of stopping as it charged towards him.

"Oh, good Lord!"

With a swipe of its claw, Bomberman went flying, and thought no more.

When Bomberman came to, he was back in the billiard room, lying face-up on the floor. He could feel the Wii Fit Trainer dabbing a wet towel on his forehead. Woozily, he sat up. "Di… did we win?"

"Of course you didn't!" laughed Bowser. "After you got knocked out, that Peckish Aristocrab ran right over Duck Hunt!"

Bomberman glanced over at the TV. Sure enough, Marth was posing for the cameras as the crowd cheered, while the dog was politely applauding in the corner, looking slightly beat up but otherwise none the worse for wear.

"What was that about being a part of the team?" asked Bowser, his voice dripping with derision. "Some team member he turned out to be!"

Bomberman glared at the Koopa King. He was not about to let that brute dampen his mood. "I sure gave Marth a run for his money," he growled.

"And what good did that do?" grinned Bowser. "In the end, he still beat Duck Hunt. If you're supposed to be the helper, then why aren'tcha good at helping? Maybe it's a good thing you're not a real Smasher. You don't have what it takes. Just like that chump Waluigi!"

The room erupted with laughter, mostly from the meaner Smashers. Once again, Bomberman felt the intense desire to pull out some bombs and watch the whole room explode. But his body, already sore from the match, said otherwise. Without another word, he limped out of the billiard room and into the hallway.

Far, far, away from all the action, a lone bus drove down an old beaten path. The chauffeur, an old salty kappa by the name of Kapp'n, drove his vehicle, paying close attention to the road and making sure his blinker was off. For he was not just an Assist Trophy, oh no! He was the official chauffeur for the Smashers, taking them to and from the grounds on request. So he faithfully carried out his duties, singing his classic sea shanties as he went along.

Today's passengers, however, were less than enthused.

"Please, for crying out loud, shut up," hissed Falco, rubbing his temples. "I shoulda taken my Arwing…"

"Your Arwing? For a quick trip to pick up some milk?" asked Ness, sitting opposite the bird. "That seems kinda overkill, don'tcha think?"

"Maybe, but here's the thing." Falco's voice became hushed. "I really don't wanna listen to this old geezer's lousy songs."

"Gar, I can hear that, ya scallywag!" barked Kapp'n. "You space folks don't know how to appreciate a proper sea shanty! Now where was I… ah!

Me boat's like a steed, a steed from a storybook.

Once you give her a look, you'll see what I mean…"

"This isn't even a boat," grouched Falco. Kapp'n paid him no mind.

"She's a proud girl, and she runs hard to get you on yer way.

She be humble, but she'll rumble.

Aye, a-storm she's a fearsome sight to be seen!"

The bus stopped, and fortunately for Falco, so did the kappa's singing. The doors opened and two children, one in blue and the other in pink, hopped on board. "Hi, Mr. Kapp'n!" they said in unison.

"Ahoy, Ice Climbers!" greeted the kappa as the two plopped down in their seats. "I was just in the middle of a merry sea shanty!"

"A sea shanty?" said Nana, eyes shining. "You know, I'm pretty good at singing myself."

"Yeah, but I'm a way better alto," added Popo.

"Oho, you two are classically trained, are ye? Well, perhaps you could join me as backup singers!" replied Kapp'n with a wink. And so, the three began to sing a new song:

"Stayin' young's about having a mischievous smile.

You won't grow old for a while, with a gleam in your eye…"

Falco buried his face in his feathered hands. "I knew I shoulda brought some earplugs…"

Back in the Smash Mansion, Bomberman continued down the hallway, grumbling to himself. He was still pretty sore (physically and emotionally) about being run over by that giant crab, and Bowser's subsequent put-downs. The Koopa king had a reputation for being a hostile, tyrannical bully, so his words shouldn't have hurt as much as they did. And yet, no matter how many times he tried to brush them off, Bowser's words still kept coming back. Maybe it's a good thing you're not a real Smasher. You don't have what it takes…

Bomberman was reminded of his talk with Isaac in the training room. He'd been trying to get in for years, even getting cut from the fourth tournament, and then to come back with no promotion? Suddenly, he was starting to see why they were so bitter. They'd been here for years, with nary a glance spared towards them. Maybe they were—

"Hey! Watch where you're going, Bomb Boy!"

Bomberman jolted out of his funk. He'd bumped into someone, a teenage girl with blonde crescent-shaped hair. She didn't seem too pleased to run into the robot.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Miss, uhhh…"

"Lightning Flash Phosphora," she finished airily. "But most people just call me Phosphora."

"Oh…" Bomberman remembered Dr. Wright mentioning her during the morning meeting. After the day he'd had, he really wanted to talk to someone. "So, um… did you finish up on the East Wing?"

"Finished up? Puh-lease. A simple power outage is child's play for someone like me," she said with a flip of her hair. "The nerve of those hands, honestly, treating me like their little repair girl. I'm telling you, Assist Trophies don't get an ounce of respect here!"

"...They don't?" Bomberman was intrigued; he'd never heard her thoughts on the matter.

"Of course not! We never get any of the attention, even though we're just as much a part of the battle as the fighters are! Imagine if I was a real Smasher… I'd wipe out some of these clowns before they knew what hit them!" She sighed. "But noooo, I'm stuck on the same level as a spiky rock with a face."

"Hey, I know how you feel," said Bomberman helpfully. "But think about it this way. The world needs sidekicks, too! Take the Duck Hunt duo! They—"

"Oh, easy for you to say," interrupted Phosphora. "This is your first time here. From what I've heard, most of us assistants end up stuck here like Dr. Wright, or get let go like Saki. And from the looks of things, I'm ending up like Wright."

"But—"

"Just forget it, all right?!" she huffed. "I don't need to be pitied, especially not by you." And with that, she floated away, grumbling about how life was so unfair.

Bomberman groaned. That conversation could've gone a lot better, he thought. That made three others who weren't too fond of their positions. He trudged down the hallway as he thought about what to do next. As he turned a corner, he failed to notice the string pulled taut across the first stair…

Down, down, down the robot tumbled, bumping his head and bending his antenna, before finally landing face first on the floor. Bomberman could hear an all-too-familiar voice, ringing above it all:

"Wahahaha! How's-a that floor taste, loser?!"

Even if Bomberman didn't know Wario, had never heard of Wario, the man's reputation would precede him. A wicked, crude scoundrel of a man, Wario often busied himself by going on treasure hunts or playing tricks on unsuspecting passersby. And unfortunately for Bomberman, Wario was feeling particularly wicked that day. He cackled at the robot's misfortune.

"Wahahaha! Look at you, flat on the ground! You're like a mop! Bomberman, more like Mop… der… man, I guess…"

Bomberman glared up at his assailant. Oh, how he longed to pull out a bomb and just shove it into Wario's big mouth! How he longed to send Wario flying into the sky like the world's ugliest firework! How he longed to set his mustache ablaze and blow his teeth clean out!

Wario wiped a tear from his eye. "Ohoho, man, that's-a rich. Never gets old." He paused as he glanced at the robot glaring daggers at him. "What's-a matter with you? Can't you take a joke?" He shrugged. "Eh, whatever. I'm-a getting bored of you anyways. Have fun spit-shining that floor, Bomb Boy! Wahahahaha!" He strolled off in search of new adventures.

Bomberman peeled himself off the floor, feeling as happy as a wet cat. As much as he would have liked to throw a bomb at Wario while his back was turned, he knew that Master Hand would surely be upon him if he caused a scene. Straightening out his antenna as best he could, he stomped off to the cafeteria for lunch.

"Come on, come on… where is it?!"

Chef Kawasaki frantically ran around as he searched the kitchen. He was almost done with lunch and was a few morsels away from his long-awaited break. Now if he could only find that Endura Carrot…

"Let's see here... Deep-fried Shwaffle… Chinese cabbage… where is it, where is it?!" He checked the freezer. Nothing. The prep table? Nope. The pantry? No sign. Where did he put it?!

At this point, the poor chef was in a panic. He needed that Endura Carrot to finish this salad! Without that salad, his buffet would never be finished! If he could just…

...Wait.

Slowly, he looked down at his apron. There was the Endura Carrot nestled in the pocket, its stem poking cheekily up at him.

Chef Kawasaki let out a nervous laugh. "Well, would you look at that? It was… it was right here the whole time. Ahahaha… All right! Time to finish that—"

His words were interrupted by a strange tugging feeling in his back. His eyes widened as his stubby arms began to glow. No, no, nonono, not now—

Chef Kawasaki disappeared in a flash of light, taking his Endura Carrot with him.

"Ughh… where am I…?"

"Chef Kawasaki? All right!"

The chef opened his eyes. He was sitting on some kind of cloud, with light pink scenery as far as the eye could see. Standing in front of him was the angel knight Pit, looking very gleeful indeed. "Okay, Kawasaki! Time to dish up Samus in a stir fry!" said Pit.

"Okey-dokey!" Chef Kawasaki adjusted his toque and took out his trusty ladle. He looked up at the higher platform where Samus was, her suit glowing like a rainbow.

"...Um, Pit? You know she's got a Final Smash ready?" asked Chef Kawasaki, backing away slowly.

"Exactly. Which is why I need you to help me knock it out of her!" replied Pit, mirroring Kawasaki's movements.

"B-b-but I won't be able to get close to her without getting zapped!" stammered the cook.

"Just throw your plates or—waugh!"

Samus had jumped down from her perch and landed right in front of her opponent, keeping her arm cannon trained on them the whole while. Pit stumbled backwards and fell over, right into a pitfall trap he had forgotten about. He was now stuck, his upper half sticking out of the ground like a panicked, winged plant.

Chef Kawasaki looked worriedly at Pit, then at Samus, then back at Pit, and back at Samus again. "I… I… I'll assist you the best way I can!" he shouted. In a burst of bravery, he threw a plate right at Samus' head. It bounced harmlessly off her head and shattered on the ground.

"...Uh."

Samus pulled the trigger.

Chef Kawasaki fell back in the kitchen, now resembling a burnt squash. He groaned as he rolled over on his back. "You know what," he said to no one in particular, "forget the salad. I think I'll just stay here and… tend to my injuries, I guess."

The Endura Carrot in his hand crumbled into ash.

Bomberman trudged into the cafeteria, his anger from Wario's prank subsiding. Now only a dull gloom was left. He picked up a pair of tongs and slowly took some sautéed asparagus, not even flinching when a hungry Yoshi licked it up before it even touched his plate. He would have to settle for a veggie wrap.

He scanned the cafeteria, searching for a place to sit. In the corner of his eye, he could see an empty seat. Sitting at this table was a green-haired woman with a sword and a star-like creature. "Is this seat taken?" he asked them both.

"No, go ahead! I'm Lyn," said the green-haired woman. As Bomberman sat down, the star chirped, "Hi, mister! I'm Starfy!"

"Oh, um… hi, Starfy. I'm Bomberman," said Bomberman awkwardly. He tried to take a bite of his veggie wrap, but couldn't help but feel unnerved by the way the way Starfy was staring at him. His eyes were sparkling, and his mouth was wide open in a smile. "Can… can I help you?"

"I know who you are! You're Mister Bomberman!" replied Starfy, jumping up and down in his seat. "You're really famous!"

"F-famous? Me?!" said a shocked Bomberman.

"Uh-huh! Everyone in Pufftop knows you! You're like one of those superstars!"

"Really?!" Bomberman felt his face grow hot. He never knew that his adventures were that well known.

Lyn nodded. "It's true. In this world, you're quite the popular character."

"Wow…" Bomberman breathed. He was popular? A superstar? Looking at Starfy gazing up at him made his heart swell with pride. But the events of the day took their toll on him as he sighed. "I sure wish it felt like that…" he mumbled.

Starfy looked confused. "What's wrong?" he asked, tilting his head to the side like a star-shaped puppy.

"It's just… do you ever feel like you got a raw deal?"

"Huh?" Starfy looked even more perplexed. Lyn did not say anything, but kept a thoughtful eye on the robot as he explained.

"It's like… there's this weird thing about being an Assist Trophy where everyone thinks it's the worst thing that can happen to you. And I know that's not the case, but everyone I've talked to feels like it is. Like it's just the dumping ground for the not good enough."

There was a long silence as Bomberman picked miserably at his veggie wrap. Then Lyn spoke up. "I know exactly how you feel."

Bomberman met her gaze. "You do?"

Lyn nodded solemnly "I've been an Assist Trophy since the beginning of the program. At first, it wasn't the ideal way to appear… But you know how I realized things weren't so bad?" She waited as Bomberman and Starfy hung on her words. "I have people worth fighting for."

"Really?" breathed the robot. "Who?"

"Oh, just some people. Both here and back home," she said with a smile. "As long as you have loved ones, wherever they are, know that they're thinking of you. And when you have that, then you can do anything."

"It's true!" chirped Starfy. "I was one of the first Assist Trophies, too! Back then, things were different. Assist Trophies were invincible. They couldn't get hurt… except for me. Everyone was able to beat me up… But I didn't care!" he said proudly. "I thought of Starly, and Moe, and all of my friends back in Pufftop, and I gave it my all! It's called being strong in the face of advicity!"

"Adversity, you mean," corrected Lyn.

Bomberman stared at his veggie wrap. He did have people back home. Knowing them, they'd be waiting on pins and needles to see him on the battlefield. And as aggravating as they could be, they were still his family. A fiery resolve filled his eyes. "I may not be a real Smasher, but I'll still fight as hard as I can!" he declared.

"See, that's the spirit!" said Lyn, taking a bite of her dish.

"In fact," he continued, "I won't lose! I'm not gonna blow it!"

Nobody laughed.

Bomberman quickly sat back down, face flushing. "Or, you know, maybe not…"

And so, the three of them enjoyed their lunch, content with their lot as long as they had each other.

Chapter Text

“Gone?! What do you mean, gone?!”

Jeff Andonuts winced as Dr. Wright shouted at him. The two were the same height, but with the look on the doctor’s face, Jeff wished he could sink into the floor. “I-I’m sorry, sir, I turned my back for two seconds and it just—”

“No, no, it’s okay, I don’t blame you,” replied Dr. Wright, although he was only partially paying attention to Jeff. His eyes were wide with panic. “Gone… missing… it’s only a puppy… who even knows…”

“Um, Dr. Wright?” asked Jeff timidly. “Perhaps we should—”

Dr. Wright suddenly turned to face the boy. “Does anyone else know about this?” he asked, gripping Jeff’s shoulders.

“Huh?” said Jeff. “Oh, er, uh, no, I was the only one who—”

“Okay—that’s very—we’re in it now—could be anywhere—” Dr. Wright took a deep breath to compose himself. He smoothed out his tall green hair and turned to face Jeff. “Okay. At this point in time, we can’t let anyone else know about the Nintendog going missing. Not Baito, not Guile, not even Ness. And especially not Master Hand. If he were to find out…” He shuddered at the very thought. “What I want you to do right now is to go and find that dog. Do it quickly and clandestinely. Now go!”

Jeff nodded and dashed out the door, leaving Dr. Wright alone in the main lounge. They’d find the puppy soon… right?

 Jeff did not expect to start his afternoon on his hands and knees looking for a lost puppy under a bush, but he supposed experiences like these kept things interesting. Jeff had gone back outside to the courtyard, the last place he had seen the Nintendog. He had been on walking duty, and had noticed the sight of Diddy Kong flying above him with a jetpack made of barrels. He was pondering the physics of such a device, and was comparing the concept to the Bubble Monkey from back home when he had noticed something was wrong. The leash had gone slack, and the Nintendog was nowhere to be found.

Jeff mentally chastised himself for his moment of distraction. If he had only kept better watch, he wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with! The poor creature… Images of the helpless Nintendog in the clutches of someone like Ganondorf or Ridley filled Jeff’s head. He quickly shook them off. He didn’t have time to worry! He had to find the dog, and quickly!

“Pardon me, but what are you doing, scraping around on the ground like that?”

Jeff hastily got up to meet the speaker. Standing before him was a young boy, not much younger than he was, with short brown hair, a red tunic, and a sword at his hip. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Oh, hello, Sablé Prince,” said Jeff, dusting himself off. “I’m actually just looking for… something.”

“Looking for something? Well, I can certainly help you with that,” said the prince. “What exactly are you looking for?”

“Oh, no, no, it’s nothing,” stammered Jeff. “It’s fine, I can handle it alone…”

“Preposterous!” responded the prince. “I certainly can’t ignore the plight of a friend. Now, what is it that you are looking for? Or is it… someone? A lost companion, perhaps?”

Jeff sighed. As impetuous as the Sablé Prince was, he was definitely smarter than he let on. “You know the Nintendog? The little toy poodle? Well, you see… it, err, has… gone missing.”

“M-missing?!” cried the prince, jumping almost three feet in the air. “Wh—but—how—”

“I don’t know!” replied Jeff. “It was there one minute, and the next thing I knew, it was gone!”

The Sablé Prince put a hand to his chin in thought. “Hmmm… a missing dog in such a large mansion such as this… and with no shortage of scoundrels about, this Nintendog is in grave danger!”

“Yes, quite!” agreed Jeff. “But how will I search this whole mansion…?”

“Oh, you needn’t worry about that,” chuckled the prince. “I, the Prince of the Kingdom of Sablé, will assist you in your endeavors!” He extended his hand.

Jeff took the prince’s arm and shook it vigorously. “Oh, thank you, Prince! You’re a lifesaver!”

The prince smiled. “Think nothing of it. Now, then, down to business! We must find our missing friend, posthaste!”

Thus, the two set off in search of the lost Nintendog. They could only hope that the little puppy was unharmed…

 The boys stormed through the mansion in search of the poodle. Their first instinct was to simply ask the Duck Hunt duo for help, but Jeff reminded the prince that Dr. Wright had given him orders to keep their search confidential. At any rate, the bloodhound was in no mood to provide assistance, laughing at the two as he slammed the door in their faces.

So the boys set about, searching in every nook and cranny that the puppy might have been hiding, splitting up to have a better chance at finding it. They checked under beds, in cabinets, and behind sofas all over the grounds, but the dog was nowhere to be found. After searching both the East and West Wings with no results, they reunited in the foyer to strategize.

“Have you found it yet?” asked Jeff.

The Sablé Prince shook his head. “No such luck, I’m afraid. In such a large mansion, finding such a small dog has proven to be quite troublesome…”

“Indeed.” So the boys sat down, thinking about the next step. If they didn’t find the Nintendog soon, word would spread around. A missing Assist Trophy going missing was bad enough, but the Nintendog, of all of them? Master Hand would place the entire site under lockdown. Panic would ensue. And worst of all, some of the more tenderhearted among them would be inconsolable if the dog wasn’t found. Jeff thought of Isabelle, who had been an Assist Trophy in the last tournament, or his close friend Ness. Would Ness cry? He’d probably cry. The thought was enough to make Jeff’s stomach turn with anguish.

A thought suddenly occurred to the boy. “Hold on. What if we’re going about this the wrong way?”

The Sablé Prince looked confused. “Hmm? What do you mean?”

“What if,” explained Jeff, “instead of looking for the dog, we let the dog come to us? Like, perhaps we should—”

“—set up a pitfall to lure the dog out!” continued the prince. “Jeff, you’re a genius! Now, the only question is, where shall we place the bait?”

Jeff adjusted his glasses, making them gleam in the light. “I think I have an idea…”

After getting an assortment of green beans from Kirby (with the promise to pay him back later), the boys set up their trap right beside the doors to Chef Kawasaki’s kitchen. If the alluring smells of the kitchen didn’t lure the dog out from its hiding spot, then the scent of green beans would! For indeed, all dogs were attracted to the heavenly aroma of steamed green beans. Or, at least, so the Sablé Prince claimed. With a net on the ground operated by a pulley, the boys stood around the corner and waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

“...How long will this take, exactly?” asked Jeff.

“Patience, now,” assured the Sablé Prince. “The dog should be coming any minute now…”

Exactly forty-three minutes passed. Still no dog.

“Okay, I’m starting to get a little worried.”

“Patience! It’ll come out soon—ah! Look!”

Sure enough, a shadow was approaching the bowl of beans. The two waited as it drew closer and closer. Jeff’s hand gripped the rope. They could hear the bowl scraping along the floor as the figure inspected its contents.

“Now!”

Jeff yanked the rope, setting off the trap and hoisting the figure up off the ground. They could hear a surprised shout, followed by angry thrashing about.

“Haha!” cried the Sablé Prince, running towards the scene. “We have you now, you little—you little…”

The prince stopped dead in his tracks, his voice trailing off. His face had gone a sickly yellow color.

“What? What is it?” asked Jeff.

The Sablé Prince turned to Jeff. “As… as it happens, we did not find the Nintendog after all,” he muttered.

“We didn't?! Then who's in the net?”

“Yes, ah… you might want to see for yourself.” said the prince. The boys rounded the corner to check on the net, and what they saw made Jeff's blood run cold.

A young girl with long, dark pigtails and wearing a red dress was currently caught in the net, trying to break free. And currently, she did not look very pleased.

“Oh, dear.”

Ashley glared at the two. “Get me down. Now.”

“R-right!” The prince drew his sword and cut the net, causing the witch to flop down the floor. She dusted herself and glared daggers at the two. “Explain yourselves,” she growled. “Quickly.”

Jeff cowered behind the Sablé Prince, who tried his best to look brave. “Ah, good day, Ashley!” he greeted in the closest he could get to a princely, civil tone.

Ashley’s eyes bored into the prince. To someone like the Black Knight or Alucard, they would have seen her as a very angry little girl. But royal though he was, the Sablé Prince couldn’t help but be chilled to his very soul. “We’re looking for the Nintendog,” he got out at last. “We tried to use the net to catch it.”

The witch was silent for a moment. “…Why green beans?” she asked.

“Isn’t it obvious? No canine can resist the allure of green beans!” said the Sablé Prince proudly, putting his hands on his hips.

“Hold on a moment,” cut in Jeff. “Ashley, why were you checking around the beans?”

“I needed them for a spell I’m working on,” said the witch plainly. “What about it?”

“Oh, no! No, nonono!” stammered Jeff quickly. A thought came to him. “Say, um, Ashley… You have magic, right? Why don’t you help us look for him?”

There was a long silence as Ashley stared. The prince coughed. “...Please?”

“Go away.”

“Excellent idea. Farewell!”

So the boys fled the scene as quickly as possible for fear that Ashley would try a new hex on them. They rounded the corner and didn’t stop until they were positive that Ashley hadn’t followed them. They found themselves back in the foyer, panting and wheezing.

“Well, it seems we’re back to square one, as it were,” said the Sablé Prince, catching his breath. “What to do now…?”

So the boys meandered down the halls, thinking about where to go from there. Jeff glanced out the window, noticing the Duck Hunt dog chasing a ball outside. Time was running out. If he didn’t find the Nintendog soon, who knew how the public would react? They needed a new strategy, and quickly. Jeff looked over at the Sablé Prince. “So… do you have any other ideas?” he asked tentatively.

The prince’s eyes were closed, deep in thought. “It doesn't make sense. The Nintendog has to be around here somewhere! It's not as if someone would just steal an innocent puppy…”

Jeff nodded in agreement. “Maybe you’re right. I mean, who among us is that evil?”

Jeff’s thoughts turned to the likes of Dr. Wily, who was not above kidnapping innocents to achieve his goals. He thought of Ghirahim, a merciless, violent demon lord with a seemingly unquenchable bloodlust. He thought of Mother Brain, a brain-like supercomputer bent on bringing the entire universe to its knees.

...There were a lot more villains than Jeff remembered.

He turned to the Sablé Prince. From the look on the royal’s face, he had realized the same thing. “But who would be so vile as to steal an innocent puppy…?”

“Samurai! Samurai Goroh!”

Jeff pounded on the stout man’s door. No answer.

“Goroh! Open the door!”

Still nothing.

The Sablé Prince stepped forward. “Allow me, Jeff.” With the elegance and finesse expected of a young boy raised in nobility, he rapped twice on the door with his knuckle. “Excuse me, Samurai Goroh, but would you be so kind as to open the door?” he asked calmly and politely.

The silence that followed was thick enough to cut with a knife. The prince knocked again. “Samurai Goroh? Please let us in. We’re looking for the Nintendog, and we’re wondering if you might know anything.”

Yet more silence.

The prince took a deep breath. “Open up, you cad,” he said, still in that polite, princely tone.

“Go away,” came a voice behind the door.

The Sablé Prince huffed. He turned to Jeff. “It seems our friend refuses to assist us in our endeavor. But not to worry!” he said with a wink. “I have my ways.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Jeff. Would he explain the situation and hope the racer understood?  Perhaps he would turn into a frog and win the man over with his charm and cuteness! Or maybe he would turn into a snake and force the information out of him?

The prince reached into his tunic, pulling out a hefty bag of money. Jeff’s eyes went wide. It was more money than he had ever seen in one place, or even his entire life. The prince added a couple more coins to the top of the bag. “Do you think that should be enough?” he asked.

“Wha… How much money do you have?” asked an incredulous Jeff.

“Oh, this?” asked the prince, glancing at the sack of coins. “This is just some pocket money I had on me. It should do the trick.” He rapped on the door again, oblivious to the look on Jeff’s face. “Oh, Goroh! If you tell us something, we’ll be able to offer you compensation!”

The door opened a crack. “What kind of compensation?” came the racer’s gruff voice.

“Oh, just a small amount of cash,” said the Sablé Prince, jingling the rather large amount of cash he held in his hand. “If you would be so kind…?”

The door opened, revealing the rather imposing frame of the F-Zero racer. His pince-nez glasses nearly fell off at the sight of the prince’s offering. “Holy—h-how much is that?!”

“Oh, just some spare change I had on me,” said the prince, a gleam in his eye. “We'll gladly pay you for anything you might know about the Nintendog…”

“Uh, the Nintendog?” asked Goroh, scratching his head. “Hmmm… Well, I can’t say I’ve seen it around…” He reached for the bag of money, but the prince stopped him.

“Are you quite sure?” he asked, jingling the sack of money he held in his hand. “Anything else you might recall? Anything at all?”

“Uhhh…” The samurai racked his brains trying to remember. After being summoned for a battle, he’d gone for a walk, and then he’d seen—

“Oh yeah! Now I remember! I think I saw that little masked weirdo walking around…”

“M-masked weirdo?” asked Jeff. “Who do you mean?”

“You know, that one guy that floats around and wears that creepy mask! I saw him around holdin’ one of those little dog carrier things!”

Jeff felt his stomach drop. Skull Kid was known among the assistants for being mischievous, troublesome, and generally unhelpful both on and off the battlefield. If he had the Nintendog in his clutches… well, who knew what he would do!

He turned to the Sablé Prince, whose face had turned very pale. He dropped the sack of coins in Samurai Goroh’s hand. “Y-yes, that will do. Thank you, Goroh.” They closed the door and immediately took off down the hall. They had to find Skull Kid, and quickly!

After searching in all of Skull Kid’s favorite spots (a maple stump just west of the mansion being his absolute favorite), Jeff and the Sablé Prince finally found him in the courtyard, crouching over a bundle of sticks by a pond. Upon noticing the two, the imp slowly turned to face them. “What do you want?” he asked.

The prince kept a grip on his sword. “Skull Kid,” he began, keeping his voice as steady as he could. “We are looking for a certain canine companion of ours. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about its disappearance, would you?”

At once, Skull Kid became very nervous, sweating and scratching at his head. “Uh… Nope! I haven’t seen any dogs around…”

Neither boy was convinced. “We know you’re lying,” said Jeff. “What did you do to him?”

“I told you, I don’t have anything to do with it!” retorted Skull Kid, who seemed to be slowly floating away. “You guys sure are persistent!”

“Skull Kid…” began Jeff slowly. “If you’re lying to us, and you did have something to do with him, then we’ll have to get Dr. Wright involved. And you know how he is. He’ll go straight to Master Hand. Now we’re going to ask you again: Where is the Nintendog?”

Skull Kid slowly lowered to the ground, defeated. “Alright,” he muttered. “You got me. I found the dog wandering around outside. It looked pretty lonely, so I figured I’d set it up on a little playdate…”

“A playdate?” repeated the Sablé Prince. “With whom…?”

“You know,” answered Skull Kid, “that big, black bow-wow creature that hangs around.”

“Bow-wow creature—!!” Jeff’s blood ran cold as he realized who the imp was referring to. A Chain Chomp, a large, iron dog-like creature with huge teeth was also an Assist Trophy in the tournament, known for its propensity towards biting anything and everything it saw. And the Nintendog was likely at its mercy. “Y-you…!”

“Oh, don’t worry,” said Skull Kid, now beginning to float away again. “I’m pretty sure the Bow-Wow’s bark is worse than its bite! Eee hee hee hee!” And with those words, Skull Kid floated away to cause mischief elsewhere.

The Sablé Prince had blanched. “Jeff…” he whispered, facing away from Jeff. “If the Skull Kid is telling the truth, then…” He trailed off. It was all too clear exactly what would happen.

Or what might have happened already.

“The Chain Chomp…” said Jeff, eyes wild with panic. “After the last tournament, Dr. Wright declared it was too dangerous to keep around, so we keep it someplace separate…”

“Someplace separate?” asked the Sablé Prince. “Where?”

It was outside, in a fenced-in area, that the Chain Chomp was kept. Due to numerous warnings from residents of the Mushroom Kingdom, it was determined that the metallic beast was too dangerous to keep with the rest of the Assist Trophies. And so it stood, alone in a twenty-by-twenty-foot field. And that was where Jeff and the Sablé Prince’s search led them.

“There it is,” whispered Jeff. “Do you see the Nintendog?”

The Sablé Prince scanned over the field. “Hmmm… I can’t see it from here. We should try another angle.”

The two of them crept around the perimeter of the field, taking caution that the Chain Chomp didn't notice them. The beast paid them no mind, being preoccupied with something on the ground. At last, the Sablé Prince’s eyes widened, and he tapped Jeff’s arm for attention. There was the Nintendog, standing there and wagging its tail without a care in the world.

“Oh, thank goodness,” whispered Jeff. But a new dilemma arose. The Nintendog was safe, but in incredible danger. How were they to rescue the Nintendog while carefully avoiding the Chain Chomp?

“It seems we’re going to have to split up,” said Jeff. “One of us should distract the Chain Chomp, while the other goes in and gets the puppy.”

“Very well,” replied the Sablé Prince. “I shall rescue the puppy while you distract the Chain Chomp.”

“Wait, what?!” asked Jeff. “Why do you get to rescue it?”

“Because you,” said the prince, now climbing over the fence, “have bottle rockets with which to distract the beast. Now be quick! I’m going in.”

As the Sablé Prince crept towards the Nintendog, Jeff set to work preparing rockets. He lit the fuse and watched as a rocket sailed over the field. The poodle immediately stood at attention, wagging its tail and barking at it as it flew overhead. The Chain Chomp, meanwhile, leapt up to lunge at the rocket, biting down to seize it with its teeth. There was a soft crunch, and the pieces of the rocket fell to the ground like paper.

The Sablé Prince froze where he stood. Jeff tried (and failed) not to imagine himself in the rocket’s place. The Chain Chomp paused where it stood and sniffed at the air. Sensing no other danger, it returned to the poodle’s side, yawning. “Fire another rocket!” whisper-shouted the Sablé Prince.

This time, Jeff elected to use his multi-bottle rockets to distract the Chain Chomp. The rockets flew over their heads, the Chomp eagerly chasing after them. Before the Nintendog could follow suit, the Sablé Prince scooped it up and leapt over the fence like his life depended on it. As he landed, the poodle fell out of his arms and landed safely on the ground.

“We did it!” breathed Jeff as the Sablé Prince came running over. The boys celebrated their success. The Nintendog had been found and rescued from mortal peril! Nothing could sully their victory!

“Ah, yes, the puppy! Where did the little scamp go?” asked the prince.

There was the puppy, waddling back through the fence and right towards the Chain Chomp.

“Wait a minute—”

Too late. The poodle had approached the Chain Chomp. Jeff and the Sablé Prince could only watch in horror as the metallic beast drew nearer to the dog, its toothed maw opening wider and wider…!

The Nintendog curled into a ball to rest, the Chain Chomp protectively draping its chain around it.

“...What.”

Indeed, the Chain Chomp didn’t seem to mean harm to its smaller companion. In fact, it seemed almost fond of the puppy. The boys could only watch in astonishment as the puppy got up and began to chase the larger creature around, occasionally nipping at the chain that trailed behind.

At last the Sablé Prince spoke. “Is this really okay?” he asked Jeff.

Jeff was silent as he watched the two canines play. He’d heard from Mario that the Chain Chomp was a dangerous creature, but… here it just looked like a big, friendly, playful dog.

...How long had it been left here, anyway?

“Maybe… maybe leaving it out here was a mistake,” said Jeff at last. “I mean, look at it.” He gestured to the two canines, barking and playing in the afternoon sun. “They’re so happy together."

The Sablé Prince gazed at them. “It would appear so,” he said solemnly. “Be that as it may… I still think it’s far too dangerous to let the Chain Chomp indoors.”

“Then what do we do?”

The boys thought for a moment. It was clearly too dangerous to let it inside. But at the same time, they clearly couldn’t just leave it out here, all alone. What were they to do?

“What it needs,” said Jeff, “is to socialize with like-minded creatures.”

“Indeed,” said the Sablé Prince, nodding his head. “Someone who’s playful and sweet, but also capable of wanton destruction.”

Jeff pondered on the other boy’s words. “...Kirby?”

“Hmmm… no, someone who’s destruction is a tad less… apocalyptic.”

 “Yeah, I see what you mean. Someone a little more low-key. Something like, a super-powered animal or—”

Jeff stopped as the words left his tongue. He glanced at the Chain Chomp, snoozing away with the Nintendog. He locked eyes with the Sablé Prince.

“I have an idea!” they both said in unison.

“Um… pardon me?”

Jeff stared up at the pink-haired nurse at the entrance to the Pokémon Day Care. The Chain Chomp’s chain was held tight in his hand. To his right, the Sablé Prince held the Nintendog in his arms as if it were his newborn child. “Yes, we'd like to register little Bow-Wow at the Day Care,” said the Sablé Prince.

“O-oh??” said the nurse, staring at the iron ball. “What… what type of Pokémon is it?”

“It’s, uh, not a Pokémon,” said Jeff. “It’s a Chain Chomp.” The Chain Chomp barked in agreement.

“A Chain Chomp.”

“Yes,” said the boys in unison.

“...Um.”

The Sablé Prince reached for his wallet, but Jeff stopped him. “Not yet,” he whispered. He turned back to the nurse. “I can assure you that dear Bow-Wow has been properly trained. I promise.”

The nurse looked down at the Chain Chomp, its sharp teeth gleaming in the light. “I… suppose it’s all right. I mean, I think it’s a steel-type…”

And so, the gates to the Day Care opened, allowing Bow-Wow to roam free among the Pokémon, the Sablé Prince allowing the Nintendog to follow suit. They leapt forward with newfound exuberance, eagerly sniffing at the ground and chasing after a cat with a coin on its head. At last they came to rest off to the side, a small avian Pokémon resting on top of the Chain Chomp’s iron body.

Jeff and the Sablé Prince breathed a sigh of relief. Ultimately, it had been a good day after all.

Chapter Text

The sun was setting over the horizon over the grounds. The last of the matches were wrapping up, and Chef Kawasaki had just finished cooking up dinner for everyone, whether they were a fighter, Assist Trophy, or a Pokémon at the Day Care.

The assistants were heading back to the lounge after a long day of being summoned for battles and other, more low-key chores. Currently, they were tucking into a heaping serving of double-layer beef lasagna, making idle chit-chat and swapping stories of adventures in their homeworlds.

"And then, that creep goes and kidnaps our grandpa!" said Callie, an Inkling girl with long black tentacles and one-half of a famous pop duo. She was talking to Baito, who was listening with wide eyes as he soaked in all the details. "So then me, Marie and Agent 3 had to bust our siphons to rescue him and the Great Zapfish! And then…"

Eventually, dinner ended, and the table was cleared. The Assist Trophies went their separate ways to relax. One assistant, Spring Man, was heading back to his room to unwind—quite literally, in his case! It had been a long, match-filled day, and he in particular had been summoned quite often. Kirby vs. Shulk, Marth vs. Zelda… Punching, dodging, rushing… As much as loved the matches, at this point he just wanted to relax and chow down on some quality pizza.

As he turned to go, the voice of Dr. Wright called his attention. "Hold on, Spring Man! Just a moment…"

Spring Man walked up to the green-haired man, confusion visible through his mask. "Huh? Whatcha need, Doc Wright?"

Dr. Wright paid no attention to his new nickname. "You're on inventory duty tonight," he said, not looking up from his clipboard.

Spring Man felt as though his legs would give out. "Aw, come on, Doc, inventory?! At this hour?!"

"Oh, don't worry," dismissed the advisor with a wave of his baton. "It's just a matter going down to our expansive inventory, counting the eighty-plus items we have in rotation for this tournament, and verifying their quantities and condition. Nothing too difficult!" There was an almost annoying cadence to top off that sentence.

The spring-armed man remained unconvinced. "I dunno, Doc, it's late and I'm tired and I—"

"But just in case," interrupted Dr. Wright, "I've placed two other assistants on inventory to help you. Isaac! Phosphora!" he called out. On cue, the lightning-wielding warrior and the Venus Adept came out from the crowd, the former looking much less enthusiastic than the latter.

"I'm not too thrilled about this either, Bouncer. Let's just get this over with," grouched Phosphora as she blew past him. Isaac could only offer an apologetic shrug.

But Spring Man, ever the optimist, simply shrugged it off. "No problemo! We'll be in and out in no time! Come on, team!"

"Yes, yes, make sure you hurry along," called Dr. Wright as the three set off. He turned back to his clipboard, then suddenly remembered something urgent. "Ah, wait! Do be careful not to—"

The trio had already left. No one was there.

"...Get lost…"

"So, how many items do ya think are in there?" asked Spring Man as he walked, hands clasped behind his head.

Isaac shrugged. "Last time I was here, there were, like… a bunch. Do they still have those little Franklin Badges?"

Phosphora nodded. "Ever since you left, they added a buncha new items into circulation. Back Shields, Killer Eyes, Ore Clubs, Fairy Bottles… oh, yeah, and they seemed really excited about adding those Special Flag things."

"I'm sorry, what?" asked the perplexed Adept. "What even are half of those?

Well, we're about to find out!" said Spring Man, for the group had reached the door to the inventory. He pulled out the key that Dr. Wright had given him and unlocked the door. It creaked as he pushed it open. The room was dark, nothing visible but a bit of plaster that had come loose long ago. The spring-armed man fumbled around for the light switch and turned it on.

Now that the lights were on, it became clear that the storeroom was much, much bigger than it appeared. An endless sea of crates, labeled with the names of different items, stretched out as far as all three assistants could see. The walls were pale and unpainted, making the room seem big and cramped at the same time. It was totally silent, save for the buzzing of the lights above.

Isaac, Phosphora, and Spring Man stood there in the entrance, gaping at the sight. Clearly, it was going to be a very long night.

"So what're these? Bumpers?"

The trio had come across another crate, this one filled with the round, colorful objects as found in pinball machines. Indeed, one of them had been placed on the crate, just below the label.

"How many do ya think are in here?" asked Spring Man.

Phosphora crouched down to look. "It says here that these crates have a max capacity of thirty. So there's… twelve crates in total. Adds up to three hundred bumpers in total. You gettin' that?"

Isaac, holding a clipboard, was dutifully scribbling down the information. "Didn't Dr. Wright also say that we need to check the items' condition?"

"Leave it to me!" Spring Man reached into one of the crates to pull out a bumper. He placed it on the ground, setting it in place with a click. He backed up a couple feet, then rushed at it with all his speed. Predictably, it bounced him away with a clanking sound. Not quite as predictably, Spring Man was sent careening into another set of crates, sending them all down onto his head.

Isaac winced. "Spring Man, are you okay?"

But Spring Man stood and dusted himself off as though nothing had happened. "Naw, it's okay! I've taken worse hits. But…" He looked around at his feet. Dozens of soccer balls had fallen out of the crates when they broke. "Uhh… how many are these?"

After cleaning up and counting the soccer balls, the trio continued on their way, taking stock of the Bombchus (mercifully deactivated), drills (Phosphora noted that the word "arm" had been crossed off the label), and boomerangs (no matter how Spring Man threw it, it wouldn't come back to him).

As they were busy inspecting a crate of Beetles, a glint of metal caught Isaac's eye. Carefully shoving aside a crate, he reached forward to get a hold of it.

"So, like, how do these even—" Phosphora noticed Isaac fiddling around the crate. "Isaac, what are you doing?"

"Oh. My. Gosh. Guys, check this out!" In the boy's hands, he proudly held what looked like a large rocket launcher, but with no obvious way to activate it. Its body was old and cracked, worn by the passing of time.

"...What is it?" asked Spring Man.

"It's a Cracker Launcher! From the Brawl tournament!" Seeing the confusion on their faces, Isaac continued, "It's like this launcher thing that shot out huge fireworks, like bwoosh-bweeoo… Aww, man, what's this even doing here?"

"I think they retired that thing right after Brawl," said Phosphora.

"Aww, what?" said the Venus Adept. "This was one of the best ones! Here, lemme show you."

He tried to fire it as a demonstration, but there was only a dull clicking sound as a few sparks fell out of the barrel. Only the blue lights around the barrel glowed faintly. "Doesn't work anymore," Isaac mumbled. He sighed, gazing into the distance. "Man, those were the days…"

"Really?" asked Spring Man with genuine interest.

"Oh, yeah!" nodded Isaac. "Back in those days, us Assist Trophies, we couldn't get hurt in battles, so we were free to attack as much as we wanted! Of course, we only really had one or two attacks…"

"Oh, yeah?" asked Spring Man. At this point even the previously apathetic Phosphora was listening.

"Yeah!" said Isaac, smiling widely. "Actually, that reminds me of this one time…"

And so, Isaac regaled the two with stories of battles past, tales of triumph and defeat, and anecdotes of antics in their downtime. As the trio reached the Home-Run Bats. Isaac had just wrapped up a story involving Samurai Goroh on kitchen duty.

"And we couldn't get rid of the smell, no matter how much we scrubbed!" finished Isaac as Spring Man laughed. "Jill couldn't even look at a mangosteen for weeks after!" He paused for a bit. "I wonder how she's doing…"

"O-oh yeah, Jill." said Phosphora. "She's one of the ones that didn't make it to the next tournament, right?"

Isaac nodded. "I don't think she even got invited to this one. I know Resetti resigned, something about his health." He brought a hand to his chin in thought. "Ummm… that reminds me. I've been meaning to ask you guys something…"

"Uh-huh."

"It's kind of a dumb question, though…"

"It can't be that dumb," said the spring-armed man cheerfully. "Just ask!"

"...Okay. Here goes." Isaac took a deep breath. "How do people in your world stay on the ground?"

"...Come again?" asked Phosphora.

"The people. How do they not fall off?"

There was a long silence. "What," said Spring Man and Phosphora in unison.

"Look, your worlds are round, apparently," said Isaac. "So, like, how do the people on the bottom of the planet not fall off?"

Spring Man and Phosphora stared at the boy. Neither of them knew how to respond. Then Phosphora erupted into raucous laughter. "Y-y-you're serious?!" she gasped.

"Y-yeah, like, Weyard is flat…"

Phosphora continued to laugh. "Ahahahaha! Oh, gods, he's a flat-earther!" It was the first time she'd felt entertained all night. "It's gravity, ya dingus!"

"I mean, I knew that," said Isaac defensively, "but I wasn't sure if it… if it worked on the other side…" He looked to Spring Man for defense, but to his dismay, the spring-armed man was laughing as well. "Spring Man?! Come on!"

"I'm sorry, man," said Spring Man, wiping a tear from his eye, "but that's the funniest thing I've heard all week! How does it work on the other side…" he chuckled.

"All right, all right, I get it," said Isaac. At this point, even he was trying not to laugh. "Let's… let's just get this over with."

So the trio continued their inventory duties, taking stock of everything from Gooey Bombs to Hocotate Bombs, from Healing Fields to Healing Sprouts, from Super Mushrooms to Super Scopes to Superspicy Curry, and everything in between.

"Ugh, finally," said Phosphora, checking off the Rage Blasters on her clipboard. "Are we done? I think we're done." A small wave of relief and celebration swept over the trio, with high-fives and fist bumps going around.

"Alright, it's been a long night," began Spring Man, "and lemme tell ya, it is a furnace in here. So let's make like a banana and split!" He stretched out his arm and pointed at the exit to punctuate his declaration.

"...Uh, Spring Man, where are you pointing?" asked Isaac.

"What? Oh, I'm pointing right there, at the—at the exit…"

But to Spring Man's surprise, and subsequent panic, he was not pointing at the exit. He was simply pointing down a long hallway that seemed to go on forever. His springy arm dropped to the floor. "Oh… oh, no."

"What? What is it?!" asked Phosphora, although she already knew the answer. Spring Man turned to them, his face grave.

"We're totally lost."

Bouncer's Log, Day 16.

How we've survived for this long, I do not know. Perhaps fate has smiled on us. But now our food supply is low. I haven't smelled pizza in months. Does anyone even know we're down here? I can only hope that—

"Spring Man, what are you doing?"

Spring Man looked at Isaac. "Oh, I was just doing one of those apocalyptic logs. You know, to suit the atmosphere!"

"But we've only been down here for… wait, how long have we been down here?!"

"Speaking of atmosphere," cut in Phosphora, "this place is so stuffy! Don't they have a fan down here?"

"You can say that again," replied Isaac, tugging at his scarf. "Man, I wish Ivan was here…"

"Aw, don't worry, guys! We just gotta, um…" He stared at the multitude of crates that lay before him. How big was this place, anyways? "We just gotta… go this way." He started walking to his left.

And so, the three assistants walked, meandering between the walls of crates, trying to find the exit. The pale walls with their chipped paint felt like they were pressing in on the trio, and the buzzing sound of the lights above drilled itself into their heads. And all the while, the musty air hung around in a stale miasma.

The trio was not in the highest of spirits, to say the least.

Suddenly, Phosphora abruptly stopped. She turned to peer at a crate on her right. "What… what does this say, Isaac?"

Isaac looked at the crate. "Uhhh… POW Blocks. Why do you ask?"

"Okay, something's not right here," said Phosphora, panic edging into her voice. "I'm like ninety percent sure we've passed that box three times already. I'm telling you, something's wrong here!"

"Calm down, Phosphora," said Isaac, keeping his own voice as steady as he could. "I'm pretty sure the POW Blocks were next to the Pitfall seeds over here." He tapped the crate he was leaning against.

"Uh, Isaac?" said Spring Man. "Those are Ray Guns."

"Hmmm?" Sure enough, the crate was labeled "Ray Guns" in big red stencil letters. "Huh," said the Venus Adept with a shrug. "Look at that. Ray Guns. Yeah, never mind, we're screwed."

"Okay, guys, don't panic," said Spring Man as Phosphora threw her hands up. "Look, I know things look bad, but we can still find a way out of this! We can—"

"boing?"

All eyes turned to the source of the sudden inquiry. A small creature with a big nose, whiskers, and a single hair with a red bow had waddled onto the scene without warning. It stared up at the trio with beady, inquisitive eyes. "hi ho," it spoke in an odd voice.

Spring Man was the first to react. "What the heck," he said.

"...A Mr. Saturn?" said Isaac, scratching his head. "What's it doing here?"

"i live down here," squeaked the little creature. "big maze to explore."

"You… live down here?" asked Phosphora.

Mr. Saturn nodded. "ran away from purple dragon, ding. came here to put down roots."

"Wait, wait, wait," said Isaac. "You ran away to come here? ...How long ago was this, exactly?"

Mr. Saturn thought for a bit. "today is what day?" it asked.

"It's Tuesday."

"hmmm…" Mr. Saturn drew circles on the ground with a tiny foot. "i came here looooong time ago!" it declared.

Isaac opened his mouth as if to say something but closed it again. Phosphora and Spring Man, meanwhile, were still staring at the creature with bewildered expressions on their faces. "Do you… know a way outta here?" asked Phosphora.

Mr. Saturn nodded, much more vigorously. "this place big, big. but i know everywhere here. follow saturn!" It waddled away, towards the crate of Beastballs.

Spring Man stared at the little creature. "Are you sure we should be following that… thing?"

Phosphora shrugged. "Anything to get us out of this hellhole. Plus, that Jeff guy told me that his species are supposed to be super smart." She glanced at Mr. Saturn, who was lying on its back, staring at the ceiling. "I hope he wasn't pranking me."

It was certainly an odd sight, three assistants, each powerful in their own right, being led by a waddling head. Mr. Saturn led the trio through the labyrinth of crates, turning left and right at seemingly random intervals. They walked past Green Shells, Spiny Shells, and even the retired Red Shells. They marched between crates filled with Smoke Balls, Poké Balls, and Party Balls. The smell of gunpowder coming from the boxes of explosive items wafted through the stale air.

Suddenly, Mr. Saturn stopped, nearly making Isaac trip over it. "we here, ding," it squeaked. Sure enough, there was the door, as plain and wooden as they'd left it some time ago. Spring Man could've sworn it was glowing.

"Oh my gods, we're finally out," gasped Phosphora as she staggered out of the storeroom, Isaac and Spring Man stumbling out behind her. At long last, fresh air and sweet freedom!

Isaac turned around to face Mr. Saturn, "Oh, man, you're a lifesaver, Mr. Saturn! I… I'd shake your hand, but, uh…"

Mr. Saturn took the boy's hand in its foot to shake. "it okay. you aaaaall fixed now. zoom!" It waved goodbye as the assistants left the storeroom. "come back anytime, ding!" it called out after them.

"Man, am I glad that we're finally outta there," said Spring Man, hands clasped behind his head. Isaac and Phosphora nodded in agreement. The three of them walked past the rooms of still-sleeping Smashers.

"You know, I'm… I'm feelin' a real connection with the three of us right now. Like that whole thing we just went through, I felt a real… a real spiritual connection, ya know?"

Isaac and Phosphora glanced at each other, then back to Spring Man. "I mean… kindaaaaa?" said Phosphora tentatively.

"I guess?" shrugged Isaac. Neither of them quite knew how to respond. There was a long silence.

"...So, do you wanna hang out?" asked Spring Man.

Both of them nodded. "Oh, yeah, totally."

"Ah! There you are! I got worried when you didn't show up!"

There was Dr. Wright, running towards them, looking as though he hadn't slept in quite a while. "Oh my stars, don't tell me you got lost in there…!"

"Ehhhh, we got a little lost," said Phosphora, "but we got out okay."

"R-really?" Dr. Wright blinked. "Oh. Well, in that case…" He took the clipboard from Spring Man. "Hmm. Yes. Good job, you three. I may keep you in mind for next time."

"Oh, no, no, Doc," said Spring Man, "you don't have to…"

"Come now, Spring Man," chuckled Dr. Wright, "Don't be so modest—"

"No, seriously, you don't have to."

"At any rate," continued the green-haired man, "you three had better rest up. We've got a full day ahead of us, so…"

Isaac yawned. "Man, you're right. I cannot wait to get a good night's sleep so I—"

Dr. Wright looked up, a puzzled look on his face. "Night?" he asked. "What do you mean? It's almost seven in the morning."

All three assistants turned to stare at the doctor, mouths agape in identical expressions of shock. "I'm sorry, what?" asked Spring Man. "Y-y-you said seven?!"

"Yes." Sure enough, the digital clock on the wall read 6:48, and the sun was peeking its rays through the window.

"Wh—huh—but I—how?!" The three of them were at a loss. Surely, they couldn't have been stuck in the storeroom for that long?!

"Yes, yes, it's an unfortunate enchantment on the storeroom. Blame the organizers for not bothering to fix it," said Wright. He gazed sympathetically at the assistants that stood before him, looking fatigued and worn out as they were. "I… I suppose you can take the day off. But just this once, mind you."

Spring Man looked at Dr. Wright as though he'd just told them Christmas was coming early. "R-really? You mean it?!"

"Yes, I'm positive," replied Dr. Wright. "I'm sure I can get some of the other assistants to fill in for you. Now hurry along, get some rest, you three."

There was a general chorus of "thank you"s and relieved sighs as the assistants went their separate ways to catch up on the precious, precious sleep they'd missed. Dr. Wright watched them go, then turned back to his clipboard with a nod.

"Note: ask Crazy Hand to remove that maze enchantment on item storage. April Fool's was months ago."

Chapter Text

The sun rose on the Smash Mansion, bathing the sky in pink and blue. All across the grounds, Smashers, Assist Trophies, and Pokémon alike were waking up to a beautiful morning. Baito, who could always be counted on to be one of the first awake, was sitting in the main lounge idly stirring a cup of coffee. He looked out the window at the sun peeking over the mountains, gently kissing the landscape with its light. The rabbit smiled as the room was bathed in the rosy glow of the dawn. He knew deep within himself that today was going to be a good day.

Meanwhile, in a completely different room, a young girl with long dark hair was lying face-down in her bed, lightly snoring as the sun's rays shone through her window and lit up the room.

The moment the light caressed the curtains, they magically drew themselves shut, sending the bedroom into darkness once again. The girl snoozed on.

At the foot of the girl's bed, a wooden scepter with a bright red orb at the head stirred. It wobbled and trembled when the light touched it. The moment the curtains closed, it stopped for a moment, then fell to the floor. Then there was a burst of red smoke, and in the scepter's place stood a little red imp wielding a trident. He rubbed his eyes and stretched.

"Good morning, starshine!" he said to no one in particular. "The sun says hello!" He blinked, looking around at the dark room. "Whoa. Or maybe the sun's givin' us the cold shoulder today…" The imp looked at the window, still covered by the curtains. "Oh, well, there's the problem!" He flew up to the window and drew them open, letting the morning light flood the bedroom.

"Honestly, Ashley, I don't get why you gotta close the blinds so early. Sunlight's good for you, you know. I know all our spellbooks say that potions are best brewed by the light of the moon, but I read that the light of the sun can do wonders for your skin and improve your mood! And," he added under his breath, "goodness knows that your mood could use improving…"

Ashley was silent, for she was still fast asleep.

"...And the stuff in the sun's rays helps you produce vitamin D, so it's bound to—h-hey! You're still sleeping?!" The imp bounced over to Ashley's bedside and poked her with his trident's pommel. "Ashley, wake up."

There was no answer. Ashley turned over in her sleep.

"Rise and shine, Ashley!"

Still nothing.

"Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey!"

At last, the witch stirred. She slowly sat up and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. "Red, what time is it?" she asked.

"It's sunrise!" replied Red. It was very clear which of the duo was a morning person. "It's a beautiful day to do whatever we want! Or at least until someone summons us!" He pointed his trident at the window. The sun was a bit higher now, the clouds lit up with gold. "Ahhh, look at it, Ashley!" sighed Red, floating over to the windowsill and resting his head in his hands. "Isn't it beautiful? Doesn't it just… inspire you?"

"Not really, no," came Ashley's flat response.

"I—um—well." Red faltered. "Well, at any rate, you're awake, so it's time to get up and meet everyone for breakfast! I hear it's banana pancakes today!"

"...Okay."

After getting dressed, the duo walked into the main lounge, where Baito was sitting with his mug of coffee. Beside him, an armadillo with a turquoise bandana and a leather jacket sat leaning back into his chair, feet propped up on the table.

"Good morning, Ashley! And Red, too!" chirped Baito, raising his mug. The armadillo said nothing, but simply tipped his hat in greeting.

"Hey, everyone!" waved Red excitedly. He nudged Ashley, who simply waved her hand in response. "So, what's on the schedule today?"

"Aw, you know, same ol', same ol'," shrugged Baito. "Little Mac is up against Incineroar later. From what I've heard, they're really hyping up this one!"

"Is that so?" replied Red. "Looks like we'll have to get front-row tickets, eh, Ashley?"

"…Whatever," said Ashley, idly picking at her pancake.

"Ah, don't mind Ashley," said Red to Baito and the armadillo. "She's not really much of a morning person…"

As the morning went on, the other Assist Trophies began to wake up and have their own breakfast. With the end of breakfast came Dr. Wright's morning meeting, and when that ended, most of them wandered off to do whatever they liked, whether it was training in the dojo, tending to the Pokémon at the Day Care, or simply wandering around to take in the fresh air.

In Ashley's case, she retreated back to her dark room, closed the door behind her, and magically drew the shades closed.

"So, Ashley, what're we gonna do today?" asked Red.

In response, Ashley took out a massive cauldron from under her bed. "I'm working on a potion… a potion that boosts adrenaline… It'll make the matches more interesting."

Red nodded. "Ah, an enhancement potion! That sounds fun!" He dove under the bed to fetch a small wooden box, its polish worn by time. "So, what'll we throw in the pot today?"

"Hand me those jellyfish tentacles. Mind the sting."

"Aye-aye, captain!" Red dove into the box to carefully pull out the parts. He handed them to Ashley, who casually tossed them into the pot. She thumbed through her spellbook. "One pint of crocodile tears."

Red poured out the bottle. "K. Rool sure was upset when we put all those caltrops in his room…"

"Butterfly wings."

These, too, were swept off the cutting board and into the cauldron.

"A spoonful of fly honey."

Red watched as the pungent mixture dripped into the cauldron. "I'm not even gonna ask what kinda flies they got over there…" he shuddered.

Ashley began to stir the pot. The liquid inside glowed a faint pink. "... It's almost done," she muttered, tossing in a leek. She stirred and stirred as the potion turned from pink to magenta. "It still needs the Razorshroom."

"No problem-o!" chirped Red, diving back into the box. He resurfaced a short time later, holding a set of russet-colored mushrooms, each with a noticeable slice in their caps. "Do you want them sliced or whole?"

"Whole. They'll lose their potency if you slice them."

"If you say so." He scraped the mushrooms off the cutting board and into the pot.

The very moment the mushrooms fell into the mixture, a cloud of foul-smelling smoke burst from the cauldron, briefly lighting up the dark room. When the smoke cleared, the potion was a deep crimson color.

"Alrighty!" cheered Red. "Let's test it!" But Ashley stopped him before he could dip a spoon into the pot.

"Hold on. There's still another step." She took out an old-looked scroll and pointed at the bottom. "It says to let it sit for 6 hours."

"Six hours?!" cried Red. "Well, what're we gonna do for that time?"

Ashley shrugged. "Dunno," she said simply. She placed a lid on top of the cauldron and flopped down on her bed, paging through her spellbook.

"I—okay." Red sat down on the floor. He glanced over at the window and sighed. "Hey, can we open the shades, y'know, let some light in here?" he asked.

"No."

"Why not?!" Red flopped over to face the ceiling. "Don't tell me we're just gonna sit here all day!"

"Maybe."

"Aw, c'mon!" This time, Red hopped up on the bed next to Ashley. "We're just gonna sit here and wait for the potion to be done?!"

Ashley closed her spellbook and sighed. "What would you have me do, Red?"

"Well, we can start by letting some light in here," huffed the imp, marching towards the window and throwing the curtains open. He turned back to Ashley. "Now, let's go outside!"

Ashley now sat up to look at Red. "Red, what would I even do outside?"

The imp snorted in faux-derision. "Lacking in imagination, are we? Not a problem!" With a snap of his fingers, a small bingo cage materialized in front of him. "We'll leave our day up to the hands of fate!"

He turned the crank, rattling the balls inside as Ashley watched, thoroughly unimpressed by the spectacle. Eventually, a ball rolled out of the cage and into Red's hand. He snapped his fingers again, and the ball turned into an envelope. Red opened the envelope and read from the paper inside. He looked at Ashley, fanged grin creeping up his face. "Well, whaddya know! It says here today we get to make a new friend!"

Ashley rolled her eyes. "Uggghh…"

"Aw, come on, Ashley! It'll be fun!" Red spread his arms above himself. "Think of all the people we've got here in one place! It'll be good for you to reach out to others! Broaden your horizons! As much as I love the smell of brewing potions and casting spells, it's nice to not be hunched over a cauldron all day."

"But I already have a friend, and that's you," retorted Ashley. "I don't need another one."

"C'mon, Ashley," said Red, fixing the witch with a look that was both playfully knowing and genuinely concerned. "You and I both know you get lonely sometimes."

Ashley snapped her head up to glare at Red. "I do not—" She paused for a moment. "I don't… I'm not lonely…" she mumbled.

Red simply raised an eyebrow. "C'mon, Ashley, give it a try," he said in a much gentler tone. "There's bound to be someone here who'll be your friend."

Ashley sat there, staring at her shoes. At last, she sighed. "Fine. I'll try."

Red smiled warmly. "That's the spirit!" He took the girl's hand and led her out of her room, out of the main lounge and into the hallway. "It's great to socialize," declared the imp. "Trust me, Ashley, you'll find a new friend yet!"

The two of them walked down the halls, Red leading with plenty of pep in his step, and Ashley following, decidedly less excited.

"Do I have to?" asked Ashley, trudging along behind the imp.

"It'll be fun!" replied Red. "This is the second tournament we've been in, and we still don't have a single close friend besides Wario! It'll be good for you to meet someone that you can get along with. Now, come on! We're going to the courtyard."

Many fighters and Assist Trophies alike were in the courtyard that day, most of them simply sitting around and enjoying the day. Red scanned over the area. "Hmmm… ooh! What about Waluigi?" he said, pointing at the purple-clad man. "You guys both have a mutual friend with Wario! I'd bet you'd get along great!"

Ashley pulled a face. "No," she said. "He's a loser."

Red faltered. "He—er—ah… okay, Wally's kind of a loser, yeah." The two of them continued to walk. "Or what about Kirby?" he said, pointing at the puffball who was busy climbing an apple tree. "He's everyone's friend!"

"Not my friend," mumbled Ashley.

"Not yet, anyways," continued Red, giving the girl a nudge. "Go on and talk to him!"

"No."

"Wha—why not?!" cried an incredulous Red.

"He's too…" Ashley searched for the right word. "...Cutesy."

Red's shoulders slumped. "And what's wrong with cutesy?"

Ashley sighed. "Remember that time we went inside that awful book world of lollipops and ice cream?"

"Yeah, I remember that," said Red, smiling dreamily as he recalled. "Gosh, I wish we could go back…" His daydreaming was quickly interrupted by Ashley glaring down at him. He swallowed. "Or, y'know, maybe… maybe not… W-what about it?"

"That's what Kirby reminds me of. A happy world of sunshine and candy," she gagged.

"Hmmm…" Red pondered for a moment. "So what you're saying is, you'd prefer to talk to someone a little less sugary-sweet?"

"Pretty much what I said, yeah," came the witch's reply.

"Someone a little more… demonic?"

Ashley raised an eyebrow. "Do you know anyone like that?"

"Do I ever!"

Red led Ashley back into the mansion, past rows and rows of doors until finally stopping in front of one. "Now, normally, I'd take you to see the Nightmare Wizard, but I haven't seen him around recently. Come to think of it, where has he been…? But at any rate, if you're looking for demons, this is your guy!"

Ashley stared at the door. There were words engraved on it, in elegant, fancy-looking lettering. "Demon Lord Ghirahim," she read out loud. "I feel like I've heard that name before."

"But of course!" nodded Red. "He showed up around the same time we did! And I'm pretty sure some people were asking for him to be a real fighter!" He knocked on the door, like a properly raised demon. "Ghirahim, he's… kinda creepy and a little full of himself, but y'know, I feel like this can work out! In fact—ah, here he comes now!"

The door creaked open, revealing a tall, thin, and menacing figure wearing a red cloak. His skin, patterned as though he was wearing a skintight suit, was almost as pale as his hair. His eyes were cold and sunken as he looked at the duo. "What business have you with the great Lord Ghirahim?"

"Uhhhhh… Hiya, Ghirahim!" chirped Red. "How it's been?"

Ghirahim narrowed his eyes at the imp, who faltered with his smile. "Okay, okay," continued Red, as if Ghirahim had answered. "The, uh… the other Assist Trophies treatin' ya right?"

"Are you here to ask for a favor, or do you simply wish to waste my time?" asked Ghirahim. Red flinched and hid behind Ashley, who was decidedly not intimidated. Ghirahim scowled at her. "Why did you drag this… infant into my presence?"

Ashley glared at him while Red tried to explain. "Oh, this is Ashley! I'm her familiar spirit!"

"Familiar spirit…?" repeated Ghirahim. "You would willingly serve a human? For what purpose?"

"Um…" Red was taken aback. "I mean, I don't really have any ulterior purpose, if that's what you're asking… I just help her out because, y'know, we're friends!"

The demon lord sneered. "Friends? You would be friends with this little… nothing?"

At this, both witch and imp stood up. "Who are you calling nothing?" growled Ashley.

Ghirahim scoffed. "Oh dear, it seems I've gotten over the human's skin." He briefly glanced back inside his room. "As much as I'd like to stay and… chat," he snorted, "I have work to do. If you have any sense of self-preservation, don't bother me." And with that thinly veiled threat, Ghirahim rudely slammed the door in their faces.

Ashley huffed, with Red mirroring her off to the side. "What's his problem?!" growled the imp. "Well, fine! We don't need him anyways! We'll find someone way more cool and demonic than he is! Right, Ashley?"

No response came.

"Ashley?" Red turned around to find that Ashley was stomping away. "Daaah—hey, wait up!" He fluttered his wings as fast as he could to keep up with the witch. "Ashley, where ya going?"

"Back to the cauldron," growled Ashley. "I'm tired of this friendship stuff."

"Aww, c'mon!" Red thought for a bit. "I'll admit, that went a lot worse than I thought it would. Okay, if not someone demonic and evil, then how about someone nice and… angelic?"

Ashley pulled a face. "Oh, gross."

"Now, now hear me out!" said Red. "It'd work well! You, a witch that likes dark spells and hexes, pallin' around with someone that… is the exact opposite of that! It'd be perfect, it could… it could broaden our horizons! Now let's—d'oof!"

In his exuberance, the imp had bumped into Pit, who had been walking down the same hallway. Both parties were sprawled out on the floor, save for Ashley, who stared at them, unamused.

"Ungh… oh, hey, Pit—Pit! What a coinky-dink!" Red tugged at Ashley's sleeve. "See, look! This guy's a literal angel!" he whispered. He turned back to face Pit. "So, Pit! What've you been up to recently?"

The angel stared blankly at Red. "Um… walking."

Red turned back to Ashley and winked in an exaggerated manner. Ashley rolled her eyes. "Walking, eh?" replied Red, nodding sagely. "Sounds good, sounds good. ...So, uh… you remember us, right?"

Pit blinked. "Um… kiiind of…?" He glanced at Ashley. "You're one of the Villagers, right?"

Red faltered a bit, while Ashley glared at the angel as thought all his hair had fallen out. "N-no." said Red.

"Hmmm… Oh! Then your name is Futaba, right? A-and you," he continued, pointing at the imp, "must be Necronomicon!"

Ashley's left eye twitched. Red sighed. "No, Pit."

"Ummm…" The angel shrugged. "I got nothing."

"Oh, come on!" exclaimed Red. "She was an Assist Trophy in the last tournament!"

Realization spread over Pit's face. "Oooohh. Well, why didn't you just say so? I think I remember you now!"

"Finally," muttered Red. "So now that we've gotten that across, we were wondering—"

"It's nice to finally meet you, Midna!"

Zap!

There was a flash of purple light and the air filled with raw, acrid-smelling smoke. Ashley coughed and cleared the air in front of her as she surveyed her handiwork. She'd done her part. Pit was gone, yes, but only in body, not in spirit. In his place was a large, yet delicious-smelling eggplant, with Pit's two legs sticking out the bottom. Ashley's wand wobbled as it transformed.

"Okay, that coulda gone a lot better," remarked a coughing Red. He stared at the former angel. "Wha—an eggplant?!"

Eggplant-Pit screamed loudly, terrified by Ashley's hex. Or at least, he would have, if eggplants could do so. But mercifully for farmers, eggplants do not scream, and so Pit was forced to hop up and down and stomp his feet in a panic. Ashley and Red stared blankly at the sight.

"Ashley…" sighed Red, pinching the bridge of his non-existent nose. "That's… that's not how you make friends."

"I don't care." replied Ashley plainly.

"Are you gonna fix him?" Eggplant-Pit was running around in circles.

"No."

"Fair enough."

And so, the duo left Pit to wallow in the agony of being an eggplant forever.

Or until Palutena could find him.

"So, what now?"

"We go back and check on my potion."

"Seriously?"

Ashley and Red were strolling down the halls again, after the fiasco with Pit. The hallway was nearly empty, and the distant sounds of a match could be heard in the distance. "So, uh… where'd you even learn that eggplant spell?" asked Red.

"Read it in a book," said Ashley impassively.

"Ah." Red paused. "...Why eggplants, though?"

Ashley stared at nothing in particular. "They're just funny."

"Fuh… funny?"

"Funny," Ashley repeated.

Red took a deep breath. "Okay, Ashley, listen. We're trying to make friends, yeah? But… the way you're going about it is all wrong! I mean, what you did to Pit back there… He coulda been a great friend! I mean, sure, he didn't know who you were despite the fact we've been here two tournaments, now… And sure, we have a whole song about you that was introduced when he got here he no doubt should've heard many times already… And sure, he's the complete opposite of our entire theming… And sure, he's about as dumb as a sack of wet rocks! No one's arguing that! But he—"

Red paused, as he processed what he had just said. "Maybe this wasn't the best idea…" he mumbled. "But anyways, I—hey! Ashley, are you listening to me?!"

Ashley was not, in fact, listening to Red. She had stopped dead in her tracks, staring to her left as though her life depended on it.

Red floated over to the witch. "Hey! Earth to Ashley?" He waved his hand in front of her face, but she did not blink. "Anybody home? What're you even star—staring at…"

The imp had followed her gaze, and now realized what she was staring at. A steel door, with a skull and crossbones painted on it, and the words "Keep Out!" just below in bold red letters. To add to this gruesome sight was a symbol below the words, a symbol that looked remarkably like a dragon's head.

"Oof," said Red, shaking his head. "That sure does look dangero—" He stopped as he noticed the look on Ashley's face. Her eyes twinkled, and her mouth was slightly open as she gazed at the door. Red, who had known Ashley for most of his life, was quick to put two and two together.

"Ashley, no," he whispered.

Slowly, as if controlled by an unseen force, Ashley drifted towards the door, and pushed it open. There was a long, spiraling staircase leading down, down, down, seemingly to nowhere.

"A-Ashley," stammered Red, as he tugged at her sleeve, "I really don't think this is a good idea. I-I mean, those warnings have gotta be there for a reason!"

But Ashley paid him no mind, stepping carefully down the stone steps, plunging into the inky darkness. At the bottom of the steps, there was a wooden door, painted with the same dragon head symbol. Ashley wasn't sure, but she thought she could see burn marks at the edges of the door. Despite Red's silent pleading, she slowly pushed open the door.

To their surprise, it was not a dark, foul-smelling dungeon that greeted the duo, but a wide open field of yellow grass. Clouds drifted by lazily above their heads. In the distance, the peaks of mountains could be seen. It was as if the door had led to another world.

Especially considered the large red wyvern standing in the middle of the field.

"Wh-wh-what is that?!" asked Red, diving behind Ashley for protection. Ashley, on the other hand, was less than impressed. She glanced at a sign that was sticking out of the grass.

This is a Rathalos, the apex predator of the Ancestral Steppe. It is very dangerous, with terrible fire breath and poisonous claws.

If you know what's good for you, leave immediately! Unless, of course, you want a closed-casket funeral.

Hugs n' kisses,

Crazy Hand

The Rathalos snorted as it surveyed Ashley. Red peeked out from behind her and read the sign. As he did so, his face paled and his ears drooped. "F-fire breath? P-p-p-poison claws?! Ashley, I don't think we should be here! We gotta get outta here now!"

"But why?" asked Ashley, still starting at the beast.

"W-why?!" repeated an incredulous Red. "Did you not read the sign?! Fire breath! Poisonous claws! Three of those four words are deadly! A-and just look at it! It's probably thinking about how to best prepare us for dinner right now!"

If the Rathalos was thinking of eating Red, it didn't show it. It growled softly as Ashley approached it. "So it's just been down here, by itself?"

"Uh, yeah, obviously," replied Red. "Because it's dangerous."

Ashley reached up to pet the creature's snout, a move it surprisingly accepted. "But it looks so lonely…"

Red looked as though he might pass out. "Ohhh, no, you don't! We are not making friends with this guy! Come on, we're leaving!"

Ashley stayed put, staring right into the wyvern's eyes.

"Ashley, come on!"

Ashley did not move.

"...A-Ashley?"

With a snap of her fingers, she transformed Red into her scepter, which floated into her hand. She raised it above her head, twirling it as the orb began to glow. Her hair turned white, and her eyes glowed a brilliant shade of crimson.

There was a flash of light, and both witch and wyvern disappeared.

Bomberman sat in his room, reading a graphic novel he'd been meaning to catch up on: Toad Force V: The Notorious Fungus. He was about to get to the climactic battle between the protagonist, Jack, and the villain who had long been in the shadows for at least three story arcs now! Just as he turned the page…

Boom!

The robot fell out of his chair as the room shook. His heart was pounding both from fear and from excitement. What kind of bomb could have made such a beautiful sound? It would have to be a magnificent explosive to create such a blast! Bomberman opened his window in search of this majestic dream bomb, but what he saw shocked him to his core.

To his disappointment, it was not a bomb that had made that sound, but a large red wyvern hovering above the grounds. It roared as it swooped down, ripping trees right out of the ground. And unless Bomberman was mistaken, he could've sworn he saw something sitting on its head…

"Ashleeeeey!" cried Red, hanging on for dear life. "This was—this is a bad idea!"

"What do you mean?" asked Ashley, as if she wasn't currently riding a deadly beast. "I made a friend today, just like you said!"

"Not like this!" shrieked the imp. "Not like this!"

Ashley patted a scale behind its head. The Rathalos roared and launched a fireball at the ground. Wood splintered, stone shattered, and someone Ashley almost recognized screamed.

For a brief moment, the smell of cooked eggplant filled the air.

Ashley knew that the Rathalos' freedom would not last. In a few minutes, Master Hand and some other Smashers would come out and bring it back to where it belonged. And knowing Master Hand's love of order, she'd probably get punished for this. But was it truly worth it?

She stroked a scale right between the beast's horns. Above the din below and Red's frantic pleading next to her, she could hear it purr.

…

…Yes, it was worth it.

For the first time that day, Ashley smiled.

Chapter Text

Night had fallen on the Smash grounds. As the stars began to dot the night sky, all the participants of the Smash Brothers tournament began to call it a day. Within a couple of hours, the Smash Mansion hummed with the sound of dozing fighters. Not a single living creature was stirring.

Or so they thought.

Luigi was waddling towards the kitchen for a midnight snack (strawberry delight, a personal favorite of his). In his journey, he had wandered into one of the more disused and ominous corners of the mansion. The green man couldn’t help but feel a bit unnerved by his surroundings. This hallway looked so old and decrepit, and the floor creaked with his every step. “Ohhh, mamma mia…” came his wavering voice. He began to sorely wish he’d brought his flashlight with him. Just as he was about to decide that his dessert was wasn’t worth all this trouble, something caught his attention. An old, wooden door hung open, and a strange purple glow was emanating from within.

In all other cases, Luigi would have simply turned right around and marched back up to his room to get some sleep. But something about this door was strangely… enchanting. Hesitantly, Luigi reached towards the door. Was that humming he could hear from the other side? His trembling hands gripped the doorknob. Luigi was so entranced by what could be inside that he almost didn’t notice the shadow that fell over him.

Luckily for him, he did.

Slowly, Luigi turned around to face what was behind him. His eyes widened as he beheld what he saw. He seemed a bit bigger than Luigi’s last encounter with him, but there was no mistaking the imposing figure of the king of the Boos.

Luigi barely stifled a scream as he fell on his bottom and tried to back away. But as he did so, he felt a sickening cold on his back. Once again, Luigi slowly turned around to meet his newest assailant.

A tall, imposing, and all-too-familiar figure wielding a scythe, with black robes draping behind it, stood in front of Luigi. Its blue flaming eyes glared down at the plumber. In a deep, chilling voice, it hissed, “The candlelight of your soul shall be snuffed out tonight.”

Luigi didn’t give the specter time to raise its scythe. He screamed and fled the scene, pushing past King Boo and running as fast as his legs could carry him.

The two phantoms simply stood there, watching the plumber run away. Then, slowly, they flickered and began to fade, melting into thin air.

“Hnn hnn hnn hnn…”

An orb as dark as the night sky and dotted with pale yellow stars slowly rose from the floor. It pulsed and convulsed until it burst, revealing a gaunt-looking creature with spindly hands, a tornado-like core, and a ghastly grinning face.

“Perhaps that will teach you to pry, mortal.”

And with that, the Nightmare Wizard drifted into the room, closing the door behind him.

It was a plain room, simply decorated with a long table and lamps lit with purple light bulbs in each corner of the room. Seated at the table was Ghirahim, looking lithe and cruel as usual. Across the table from him was a corpulent, winged blue demon with blank red eyes and horns that had dulled over the years. Next to the demon was a middle-aged man with balding gray hair, looking very uncomfortable between the two demons. And at the far side of the table, sitting in a glass case, was a gigantic brain with sharp metal barbs jutting out from the cerebrum. A single, staring eye gazed out from under the cerebral hemispheres.

“You’re late, you know,” smirked Ghirahim. “You know how Mother likes being on time.”

“Yes, a thousand apologies,” came the voice of Nightmare. “I had to make sure no one was spying on us.”

The brain stared at Nightmare. “Very well,” she intoned. “I expect you to be on time for our next meeting.” When Nightmare sat down, she turned to face the rest of the group. “I suppose you are wondering why I have gathered you here tonight.”

“Not particularly, no,” said Ghirahim, resting his head in his hand.

Mother Brain glared at the demon. “I have called you forth to propose an… alliance.”

The balding man and the blue demon seemed surprised, while Ghirahim simply arched an eyebrow. “Think of it. The four of you, led by me, the true successor of the Chozo and their greatest creation,” she continued. “I have already convinced Nightmare to our side. Think of the possibilities…!”

The blue demon spoke first. “Do you mean to say that if I should join you, I would regain control of Devil World?”

“Devil World, and so much more,” hissed Mother Brain. “Everything you wish, beyond your wildest dreams.”

The Devil’s eyes widened. Images of an underworld under his command flashed before his eyes, and his ears twitched at the sound of wailing souls. And his greatest triumph, that irksome dragon in the deepest, darkest, most hopeless pits of his realm…! A wicked smirk crept up his face. “Very well, O creature of flesh and steel,” he intoned. “I shall assist you on your endeavors.”

“Excellent,” said Mother Brain, grinning as only a giant brain monster could grin. She turned to Ghirahim. “And you, demon lord. Would you join my side, the side of true power?”

Ghirahim simply sipped from a teacup that he had on his person for some reason. “Well, let’s see,” he hummed, tapping his chin. “It would get me out of that dingy old lounge room… And more opportunities for me to whet a certain… appetite …” He licked his lips, clearly savoring his thoughts. “I suppose I can lend my assistance to your cause,” he drawled at last.

“Well, I, for one, will have to pass,” huffed the middle-aged man sitting across from Ghirahim. “I’ve had too many bad experiences with alien supercomputers, thank you very much!”

Mother Brain scoffed. “Hmmm! I expected such a simple creature would reject such an offer out of hand. Would you truly give up a chance at glory, Wily?”

The mad doctor looked quite irritated. “S- simple?! ” Off to the side, Ghirahim snickered. “I am Doctor Albert Wily! The world’s greatest scientist! I’m a genius! ”

Mother Brain leered down at Wily, clearly unimpressed. “And yet, you are brought to your knees time and time again. By a child, no less.”

“Grk—!” This time, Ghirahim burst into full guffawing, with Devil following suit. Wily grit his teeth. “Why can’t you just use one of your own generals to help you? What was that thing’s name again? Dark Samus? She could—”

Mere mention of the name caused the room to darken, the lamps in the corner dimming slightly. Mother Brain turned to glare directly at Dr. Wily, a very effective tactic given her single bulging eye. Even Nightmare began to shift around uncomfortably. Dr. Wily seemed to realize his mistake, slowly shrinking into his chair.

“Let me make one thing clear,” she hissed. “That usurping little worm is not one of my generals. I have not forgotten her exploits on the planet Aether, nor will I forgive her. The Space Pirates are mine and mine alone to command, and I will not tolerate her interference. Have I made myself clear, Albert? ”

Wily made a soft choking noise and nodded.

“Can I trust that your army of robots will assist me?”

Wily swallowed and nodded again, averting his eyes.

“Good.” She turned back to the rest of the group. “Are there any further questions?”

Devil raised his hand. “What, exactly, does this plan of yours entail?”

Mother Brain sneered at the demon. “Is it not obvious at this point? We are going to overthrow the tournament’s organizers.”

“You mean Master Hand?” asked Ghirahim lazily.

“Yes, both the Master and Crazy Hand,” replied Mother Brain. “And all the other inferior lifeforms under their thrall.” 

The Devil stroked his chin, wicked glee spreading across his face. “We’ll usurp the hands’ power and bring this world to its knees! Excellent…”

“Then it is settled.” declared Mother Brain. “I shall—”

“What about Ridley?”

All eyes turned to Nightmare, who had been silent up until that point. “Shall we inform Ridley of our endeavors?”

“Hmmm…” Mother Brain pondered on the phantom’s words. “Geoform-187, my most loyal attack dog, shall be very instrumental in our plan. He’ll keep the hunter or any other meddlers out of our hair. And yet… it is too dangerous to directly involve him just yet. It is best to keep him in the dark for now. I shall summon him when his time comes. Until then, keep this entire operation quiet. Understood?”

A general murmur of agreement went across the room. “Mum’s the word,” commented Ghirahim under his breath.

“Very good,” said Mother Brain. “Perhaps there is intelligent life in this realm after all.” She gazed impassively at the group from inside her glass case. “This meeting is now adjourned. I shall summon you all when it is time to take the next steps. Now go.”

One by one, the miscreants filed out of the room, with Wily looking the most eager to leave. “Somehow,” he remarked to Devil, “I feel like I’ll regret this later…”

“Hmph. A human of your ilk would say that,” growled the demon. “I will admit that I am not too sure of the flesh-and-steel creature’s plan. But at the same time, I feel a great power coming from her. I am willing to tolerate her for the sake of my goals.”

“...Oh, fine,” Dr. Wily conceded at last. “I’ll put up with her as long as I have control of my world when all’s said and done. And,” he added under his breath, “She’d better stay away from it once it’s mine…”

The three villains walked off in different directions, leaving Mother Brain to plot her next move.

Chapter Text

With the sun shining through the window and reflecting off his armor, Shovel Knight trotted through the halls of the Smash Mansion. Today, he was on one of his patrol routes, keeping watch for any miscreants that would jump at the chance to cause trouble. Technically, it was a self-appointed role, but nobody seemed to mind him roaming around.

The sun glinted off his trusty shovel. In truth, when he had first received the letter long ago, he wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. Being called upon to assist in what sounded like gladiator battles? Featuring many famous warriors from many different worlds? It all sounded like some outlandish fantasy! But his adventurous spirit had shone through, and he followed the map to arrive at a stately manor in the World of Trophies.

"And who knows?" Chester had said right before he set out. "You might be able to find some good loot in that Smash Siblings place! Make sure to let me know if you do!"

Shovel Knight hadn't found any interesting relics so far, but he had found something far greater. Indeed, he had made plenty of stouthearted allies among his fellow Assist Trophies! He was quite fond of Riki, the Nopon capable of using many Arts to confound his foes, and Kapp'n, the kappa that drove around as a chauffeur. They seemed quite strange on the surface, but Shovel Knight wasn't one to judge people based on outward appearances. He trekked on.

The knight's patrol took him down a flight of stairs and out the back doors of the mansion. The air was clean and the world looked fresh, like a shiny new penny. Perfect adventuring weather.

He trotted through the courtyard. Birds were flying and singing overhead. Who knew what he could accomplish on this day? Perhaps he might go on an old-fashioned treasure hunt… Or maybe he could go fishing with one of the Villagers! Truly, the day was full of potential!

"Ah, excuse me!"

Shovel Knight turned to the source of the voice. Sitting at a table was the royal fighter, Princess Peach, and Meta Knight, a pint-sized, serious and somewhat (or very, depending on who you asked) intimidating knight from the planet Popstar. The princess was waving Shovel Knight over. "Excuse me, Shovel Knight! Could you come here for a moment?"

Shovel Knight scurried over to the table and bowed on one knee, offering his Shovel Blade in service. "Good day, Your Highness!" he declared. "How can I be of service?"

Peach laughed softly as a gloved hand came up to cover her mouth. "Oh, Shovel Knight, there's no need for formalities here! We're all equals here!" Meta Knight, sitting in his high chair, silently nodded his agreement.

"Ah, is that so?" Shovel Knight got up. "Well, at any rate, what can I do for you, then?"

The princess took out a pink clutch from somewhere on her person. "Would you mind taking this back to my room for me?"

Shovel Knight extended his hand. "But of course!" he said, taking the clutch from Peach's hand. No sooner had he grasped the purse than it immediately dropped to the ground with a clang, surprising both knights present at the table.

"Er… Princess?" began Shovel Knight. "If I may ask, what exactly is in this purse?"

"Oh, you know, just my parasol," replied Peach with a wave of her hand. "And my golf club. And my tennis racket, some spare gloves, a Quartz Charm—" she began to count on her fingers— "a War Fan, my favorite music box, aaand… roughly thirty or so turnips. You know, as you do," she finished sweetly.

"I… see," acknowledged Shovel Knight, lifting the purse with great effort. "Do not worry, Princess! I shall drop this off—oof!—posthaste!" And with that, the little knight trotted away, although at a much slower pace than previously. Princess Peach waved him off as he left.

"You know, Princess," intoned Meta Knight, who had observed these events quietly, "I could have easily dropped those off for you."

Peach sighed, a sound more disheartened than annoyed. "Now, Meta Knight, you're always working so hard, training or, quote, 'keeping watch for enemies'. Isn't it time you relaxed for a while?"

It was Meta Knight's turn to sigh. "...I suppose," he conceded at last.

Peach's mood gladdened instantly. "Perfect!" she chirped. "And just as well, too! I've got the whole day ahead of us planned! After this, we'll be attending a musical performance by Kirby and Wario! Now, I know Kirby's singing isn't… the best, but he's told me that he's been practicing really hard! Won't that be fun?"

Meta Knight shuddered.

Up, up, up the stairs Shovel Knight jogged, purse in hand. Or rather, he ascended slowly, considering the bag's considerable weight. At last, he reached the princess' sleeping quarters, where he swiftly dropped the bag. After its contents spilled out on impact, however, it then fell to him to place everything in its proper space.

Shovel Knight wiped his brow as he closed the door behind him. Who even used that many turnips?! And he could have sworn one of them had glanced at him as he put it away. Well, at any rate, that was over and done with. Where would he go next?

So, the knight continued his patrol through the mansion, giving a quick nod at a passing Krystal. He passed by the training room, where Gray Fox was instructing Isaac and Lyn. He happened upon the music room, where Diddy Kong was jamming out on an electric guitar. He passed by a simple closed door, completely ordinary in every possible way. He traveled past a—

…

Well! What was this?

If Shovel Knight had learned anything on his adventures, it was to leave no stone unturned. Perhaps this could be a secret treasure room! The thought was very enticing to the little knight. With a great heave, he pushed the door open.

"...Hm."

It was not a treasure room, as Shovel Knight was mildly disappointed to find out. Instead, behind the simple, plain-looking door was a simple, large, plain-looking room, with a perfectly ordinary white wallpaper, flooring and ceiling. More than plain-looking— it was completely empty, save for a window and a small wooden chair in the corner.

Shovel Knight carefully stepped inside, as though he was intruding on a sacred place. Quietly closing the door behind him, he looked around, searching for any secret compartments that might hold treasure inside. Perhaps a section of the wall could be removed, allowing him access to a secret passageway. Yes, that must be it! All he'd have to do is—

Suddenly, the door began to open. Shovel Knight jumped as he heard the doorknob turn. Although a part of him knew that he was in no real danger, his hand flew to his Shovel Blade. The door swung open, and the sound of footsteps, heavy yet careful, filled the room. Shovel Knight whirled around, and found himself meeting the sharp crimson eyes of a black hedgehog with golden rings around his wrists and ankles.

Shovel Knight hesitated. The hedgehog started upon noticing the knight, then peered at him with narrowed eyes. For a moment, neither of them said anything.

At last, Shovel Knight broke the silence. "Good day to you, ah… Shadow, was it?" he spoke in his normal, chipper tone. "What brings you here?"

Shadow's eyes narrowed further. "What are you doing here?" he questioned.

"Oh, uh, I was just… searching for hidden treasure!" explained the knight.

"Searching for hidden treasure," repeated the hedgehog.

"Yes!" replied Shovel Knight.

"In an empty room."

"...Yes."

Shadow paused for a moment, then rolled his eyes. "Very well. Do what you will," he said.

Shovel Knight peered at Shadow for a minute. "If I may ask, what are you doing here?" he asked.

"I come here to get away from the… noise." Shadow explained. From his tone, noise sounded less like a concept and more like a person. "What of it?"

"Oh! Oh, I was just curious, is all." The knight was silent for a moment. "...It's kind of nice here, isn't it?"

"Mmmm." Shadow was facing away from Shovel Knight, his arms crossed and his eyes closed, deep in thought.

Shovel Knight looked around the plain, undecorated, eerily empty room. "...Why is this room so empty, anyways?"

"How many questions do you intend to ask?" said Shadow curtly.

"I'm just wondering! Shadow, how long have you been coming here?"

Shadow paused for a bit. "...Since the Brawl era," he said at last. "It's empty, because… nobody ever really bothered to put anything here, I suppose."

Shovel Knight thought on his words for a moment. "I see…" There was a long silence between them. Shadow stood there, staring off into the distance.

…

…

"Would you like to redecorate?"

Shadow blinked. "What."

Shovel Knight had turned to the hedgehog. "Perhaps if this room had some furniture, it would seem a bit more welcoming!"

More welcoming…!

"Welcoming…" repeated Shadow. Something about the way he said it… intrigued him. He stared at the walls, empty and devoid of life. He stared at the chair, simple but elegant in its construction. He stared at Shovel Knight, his eyes brimming with hope and justice.

Or at least, Shadow assumed they were. It was hard to tell with that helmet on.

"…Very well," he said at last. "I suppose I can help you in your little… endeavor."

Shovel Knight raised his shovel in a show of appreciation. "Excellent!" he declared. "Let us be off, then!" He trotted off into the hallway, with Shadow trailing behind him.

"Now wait just a minute," said Shadow. "Do you even know where this furniture of yours is?"

Shovel Knight halted mid-stride. "Ah." As a matter of fact, in his newfound excitement for redecorating, he had forgotten that he had no idea of where to actually find any furniture. "Well, I…"

"You don't have any," finished Shadow, his eyes narrowing.

"I will admit, I don't have any furniture on my person at this moment," began Shovel Knight, "but we can still—"

"Excuse me," came a voice. "You say you need furniture?"

Shadow started, and looked around warily. Shovel Knight gripped his Shovel Blade. The hallway was completely empty save the two of them. "Who's there?" growled the hedgehog.

"Ha! Same old Shadow, grouchy as usual!" laughed the voice. "You said you needed furniture, right?"

"Er… yes, I did," stated Shovel Knight, his hand still on his shovel. "But all the same, are you ally or adversary? Show yourself, if you are friendly."

"Well, aren't we brave today!" taunted the voice. "I'm right behind you, you know."

Both assistants whirled around to face the source of the voice. But to their surprise, no one was there. The hallway was completely empty, save for their shadows on the ground, which winked at them.

…

…

...Wait a minute.

Shadow's shadow began to ripple and contort on the ground. Shovel Knight leapt back, his Shovel Blade at the ready. Something was definitely rising out of the ground now. Shadow pulled out a glittering green gemstone, gritting his teeth. Particles of darkness began to rise and concentrate just above the ground. There was a loud crack, and standing before the duo was a small imp with a large helmet.

"...Oh."

The imp grinned cheekily at the duo, floating at their eye level. "Well, what do we have here? Shadow the Hedgehog, waltzing around with one of the newbies!"

Seeing that she meant no harm, Shovel Knight lowered his shovel. Shadow gave her no such courtesy. "Greetings, er… Midna, correct? I am Shovel Knight, on a quest of redecoration!" He raised his shovel high to emphasize his point.

Midna stifled a giggle at the knight's speech patterns. "Seems like the others were right. You and Link are cut from the same cloth." She glanced over at Shadow, whose shoulders remain tensely raised. "Well?" she asked.

Shadow's eyes narrowed as he made eye contact with Midna. At last, his quills relaxed and his shoulders slumped, though his hands remained cautiously balled into fists. "Midna," he said by way of greeting.

Midna rolled her eyes. "I couldn't help but overhear that you two were looking for furniture."

"As a matter of fact, yes, we are!" replied Shovel Knight. "Do you know where we can find some?"

"Eee hee hee… Do I ever! But…" Midna paused, taking in Shovel Knight and Shadow's expectant faces. "You two better keep this a secret, alright?"

"O-of course," replied Shovel Knight, "but what kind of secret is this?"

Midna floated over to a brick high on the wall. It was the same color as its neighbors; no one would have noticed it otherwise. As she gently pressed on it, it sank back into the wall, making the bricks below it shift to the side, revealing a long, winding staircase leading downward.

Shovel Knight could've sworn he heard a strange sequence of notes.

Shadow's eyes widened at the sight. "What is that?" he asked.

"You'll find out soon," replied Midna, already descending down the steps. "Well, what are you waiting for?" she asked, throwing a smirk over her shoulder. "Follow me!"

The trio crept down the stairs, each step creaking under their weight. At the bottom, there was a wooden door, marked with a symbol that looked like two leaves, one of which had a bite taken out of it. Midna knocked twice.

"Who's there?" came a gruff voice on the other end.

"Customers!" said Midna.

There was a click as the doorknob turned. Standing in the doorway was a tall man in a leather jacket and sunglasses, with gold and silver jewelry on his arms. He stared scrutinizingly down at the hedgehog and the knight. "Whaddya buying?" he asked.

"'Sup, Rodin," said Midna, morphing her hair into a fist to bump his own.

Shovel Knight was known throughout the valley he called home for his strength, skill, and immense bravery, but even he was a bit… unnerved by the man standing before him. "Uh… Good day to you, sir! I am Shovel Knight, on a quest of redecoration! And this is my faithful companion, Shadow the Hedgehog!" An unintimidated Shadow simply raised his hand in greeting.

Rodin grinned at the knight. "Heh. Got ourselves a real knight in shining armor, don't we? Now then, you folks here for business or for pleasure?" he asked, opening the door to let them in. "Either way, I'll hook you up."

Shovel Knight blinked as he took in the sight of the shop. It was decently sized, with wooden walls and plain flooring, but what really jolted him was the actual decor. Small wooden chairs he'd almost call cute, a stately little cash register on the counter, and that double leaf symbol plastered everywhere. And Rodin simply stood there, leaning against the counter as though nothing was amiss.

"This place ain't mine, you know," said Rodin, snapping the knight out of his thoughts. "While those little raccoon kids are out helping on the battlefield, I get full reign of the joint for a while." He crossed his arms and sighed. "This place makes me miss the Gates of Hell already… So, what'll it be?"

"We're looking for new furniture," explained Shovel Knight. "Would you happen to have any?"

"Furniture, eh?" Rodin rubbed his chin in thought. "Should be in the back somewhere. Don't know how they turn it into leaves…"

Shovel Knight followed the demon's directions, with Midna and Shadow trailing behind. Dozens of chairs, dressers, clocks, and lamps lined the shelves and walls, stretching as far as they could see.

Midna let out an appreciative whistle. "Dang, this place is a lot bigger than the last time I came here," she muttered. "How much furniture do you guys need?"

"Enough to fill an empty room, I suppose," replied Shovel Knight, who was closely examining a television in the shape of a puffer fish. "You're welcome to join us, if you like."

The imp shrugged. "Eh, why not? Oooh, what kinda vase is that?" She floated over to get a closer look.

While Midna and Shovel Knight were shopping, Shadow simply stood awkwardly off to the side. He hadn't really expected to find any furniture at all, nor had he expected to find this little store that had apparently existed for quite some time. He sat down in a chair, pink and with a heart-shaped back, to think.

"Hey, hey," called Rodin from the front of the store. "You sit in it, you buy it."

Shadow groaned and rolled his eyes as he stood back up. Very well. It seemed he would have to buy at least one thing here. If nothing else, it would make Shovel Knight happy. He began to pace along the aisle as he browsed the shelves. If he were to spruce up a room with some new furniture, what would he use? If it was according to his own tastes, it would be something economical. Nothing too fancy or luxurious. Then again, he was the Ultimate Life Form, and the Ultimate Life Form deserved nothing less than the best. Perhaps he could splurge a bit. In that case, perhaps he should purchase something a bit bigger. Maybe something black, with red accents. Yes.

And as luck would have it, here was something that fit that exact description! It was an elegant, ornate-looking pendulum clock to be hung on a wall, with golden hands and a handsome gold trim around the casing. Perfect.

Shadow smirked to himself as he picked it up. This would make a fine addition to that dreary old room. All he had to do now was check how much it cost. And according to the price tag, the clock would cost three hundred fifty thousand Bells.

"…"

Remembering the exchange rate in this world, Shadow quietly put the clock back down.

Shovel Knight poked his helmet out from behind a chalkboard. "Have you seen something you like yet, Shadow?"

Shadow blinked. "There's… this clock here, but it's a little on the pricey side."

"What?" said Midna, popping out from behind Shovel Knight. "Lemme see that." She snatched the clock out of the hedgehog's hands and winced upon seeing the price tag. "Jeez," she muttered, scratching the side of her head. "Where the heck do they get this stuff?"

"Hmmm… this is very well made," said Shovel Knight, holding the clock up to the light. "Fascinating…"

As Shovel Knight (and Midna, surprisingly) continued to admire the clock's handiwork, something on the shelf behind them caught Shadow's eye. He pushed past them to get a closer look. Sitting on the shelf, nestled between a rococo lamp and a roll of wrapping paper was a small, blue, inoffensive looking throw pillow.

For some reason, the pillow attracted Shadow's attention like nothing else had that day. He stared at the pillow, as though doing so would unlock the secrets of the universe and beyond. He stared and stared, barely even registering Midna nearly toppling a stack of model curling stones on his head.

"...Yo, Shadow, you alright?" asked Midna.

"Yes…" The hedgehog's voice was barely above a whisper. He picked up the throw pillow and drifted back to the front of the store.

Rodin glanced at the pillow in his hand. "...Is that all?" he asked.

Shadow frowned up at the taller man. "And what of it?"

Rodin simply arched an eyebrow. "Hey, I ain't here for interrogation. I'm just here for business." He took the pillow from Shadow and scanned it. "But in any case…" He lowered his voice as if not to be overheard. "You feel it too, right?"

"Feel what?" asked Shadow, handing Rodin the money.

"Something big is comin' up, hedgehog, and I've got a feelin' we're all gonna get caught up in it sooner or later." The man's face was grim as Shadow fixed him with a steely glare. "Now, I know you didn't ask, and I don't care. But if you want my advice? Keep your ear to the ground and pay close attention. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got customers." He turned back to Shovel Knight and Midna, their arms full of furniture.

Rodin's words stuck in Shadow's head as he began to walk out of the shop. According to hearsay around the manor, Rodin was among the most powerful beings in his homeworld, and possibly even in this world as well. Shadow found that a bit hard to believe, considering his own presence here.

But then again, he had seen how Rodin fought on the battlefield. Summoning demonic limbs forth, all while remaining calm and collected… he reminded Shadow of himself. If such a powerful being spoke of danger, then what could possibly be on the horizon?

"We're all finished!"

The knight's words brought Shadow back to reality. Shovel Knight and Midna were marching out of the store, pushing a shopping cart filled to the brim with furniture. Midna caught his eye and gave him a sly wink. "See?" she smirked. "I told you this was a good idea!"

Shadow smiled wanly. "Yes," he said. "I suppose it was."

"Man, this place is already looking great!"

Indeed, the old, abandoned room that Shovel Knight had discovered was coming into its own. With several bookshelves lined up in a row, a secret snack-and-coffee station, and a chair shaped like a frog, the room was slowly but surely developing its own personality.

"Yes, I suppose so," agreed Shadow. "Of course, it's mostly due to my discerning tastes," he added half-jokingly.

This got a hearty laugh from Shovel Knight. "Well, if you ask me, I'd say this room is coming together quite nicely!" He glanced at the throw pillow, sitting harmlessly on the couch. "I do especially like that throw pillow, Shadow."

"Y'know," said Midna, reclining on the frog-shaped chair, "I never woulda guessed you'd pick something like that."

Shadow turned to face the imp. "What do you mean by that?"

Midna shrugged. "Well, it's just… I thought you were gonna pick something a little… a little more…"

"Edgy?" Shadow finished.

"...Well, I wasn't gonna say it like that, but…"

"Believe me," said Shadow, rolling his eyes. "I've heard that far more often than you'd think."

"Well, if nothing else," cut in Shovel Knight, "it definitely ties everything together!"

"Yeah, I guess," nodded Midna. "Makes the place seem more welcoming!"

More welcoming!

More welcoming…!

"Isn't this wonderful, Shadow?"

The girl stood there in front of him, her smile wide. In her hands, she held an ottoman, the same shade of black as his fur.

He nodded excitedly. "Where are we going to put it?" he asked.

"Hmmm…" She put a finger to her chin in thought. Then, she turns to him and smirked. "Where do you want to put it?"

He started. "Me?" He looked around the room. Stars dotted the infinite cosmos just outside the window, a stark contrast to the pale blue planet below. He settled on a spot, just a few paces from the glass. He placed it on the floor, positioned just right, so as to take in the view.

The girl clapped her hands. "Perfect!" she said. She sat down on it, and he followed suit, crouching down on the cold metal floor next to her. "If nothing else, it makes this place seem much more welcoming!"

He nodded. "Mmm." The two of them sat there in silence, watching the world go by.

"...Hey, Shadow?"

He turned to the girl. "Hmm?"

"What do you think it's like down there? On the planet?"

He paused. "I… don't know," he admitted.

"Oh, come on!" laughed the girl. "Use your imagination!" She paused, then shut her eyes. "You wanna know what I think?"

He nodded. "Well, go on."

"I think it's just like Grandpa says. With those beautiful, silver moons and warm sunrises. Skies of blue and clouds of white. Bright blessed days and dark—"

"Now you're just quoting that song," laughed the hedgehog.

She stuck her tongue out. "I'm serious, though!" she said, kicking her legs on the ottoman. "I just… I think it—" She shook her head. "No, I know… it's a place filled with hope. You get it, right, Shadow?"

"A place filled with hope…"

Hope…

"Shadow? Shadow, are you all right?"

"Hey, earth to Shadow? You okay?"

Shadow blinked, suddenly remembering where he was. There was a knot in his chest that wasn't there before, and his eyes were shining. He didn't dare turn around to look at the two behind him. He remembered Rodin's words from earlier. Something big is comin' up, hedgehog, and I've got a feelin' we're all gonna get caught up in it…

"Shadow?"

The hedgehog in question was quiet for what seemed like an hour, thinking on Rodin's warning. The memory of that day with Maria was still fresh in his mind. He was suddenly aware of Shovel Knight and Midna, standing expectantly behind him.

...He wouldn't get them involved. Not yet. He turned to the two assistants, but did not meet their eyes. "This has been nice, I suppose. I should go now." And before either of the two could say anything, he had turned on his heel and left.

Shovel Knight stood there, staring at the spot where Shadow once was. Midna simply frowned. "Ugh… he's doing that thing again." she groaned. Seeing Shovel Knight's confused reaction (as much as she could through his helmet), she went on. "Oh, yeah, you don't really know Shadow that well, do you? He has this loner persona that he keeps up, even when he's working on a team. So there's that."

Shovel Knight rubbed his chin in thought. "I see… I'm familiar with people of that sort."

Midna nodded. "But this time was different. You know what I think?" She leaned in closer. "I think this time… he's hiding something much bigger."

Shadow stared off into the distance, watching the sun set. Those words played in his head, as they had so many times in his life.

For all the people who live on that planet… give them a chance to be happy… Let them live for their dreams…

...Very well. If it meant protecting both this world and his own, he would begin investigating. It was what he'd promised to her so long ago.

Chapter Text

The sky was colored a paler blue than normal. A harsh cold had settled over the land, in spite of the sun that hung in the sky. The ground was hard and frozen, a thin layer of frost blanketing the soil. The howling wind seemed to warn every living thing to stay inside. Breaths came out in clipped, terse puffs and hands were tucked firmly in pockets, at least for those that dared brave the cold. Even the Ice Climbers were careful enough to wear an extra layer as they went out on their expedition for the day.

For everyone else, however, the day was better spent inside, with piping hot beverages and sitting next to blazing hot fireplaces. And that is exactly where a certain young lady was at that very moment, quietly sipping tea as she watched the world outside.

Yuri Kozukata took another sip. She watched with mild concern as someone (presumably the one named Luigi, judging by his green hat) slipped and fell on a patch of ice. The sky had turned the color of a stormy sea as clouds moved in, subtly darkening the landscape.

She continued to stare out at the world beyond. The countryside was vast and seemingly endless… at least, that was what she had been told on her arrival here.

It had already been a year since Yuri first received her invitation to come to this strange place, and she still remembered it as though it was yesterday. She had been sitting alone, minding her own business, when a large, sentient hand(!) had shown up at her door inviting her to participate in a fighting tournament featuring many warriors from across the multiverse. It had given her an envelope, detailing that she was to be an Assist Trophy, stunning foes with her specialized camera, the Camera Obscura.

Her first reaction was asking them to leave, of course.

…Actually, scratch that. Her second reaction was asking them to leave. Her first reaction was screaming at the top of her lungs.

But thankfully, the talking hand and its brother(?!) were quite calm about the whole ordeal. Well, maybe one of them was. The other was prone to… "goofing off", as Master Hand had said. After accepting the position, they had taken her to a place called the World of Trophies, where warriors from other worlds gathered in pitched combat.

Yuri had her misgivings at first, but she inevitably got used to the routine. Her friends had always said she was adaptable to change. In the face of horrifying, supernatural creatures, she remained adjustable, versatile, and resourceful. Even here, in the World of Trophies, nothing could truly faze her for long.

Her teacup emptied, Yuri got up and began to roam the hallways. Although she knew she had nothing to fear, her footsteps were slow and deliberate, as though something might jump out at her at any moment.

As she rounded a corner, she spotted a small, round, and fuzzy creature heading in her direction. Upon meeting her gaze, he smiled and waved. "Good morning, Yuri!" he chirped.

Yuri smiled and waved back. "Hi, Riki! Everything holding up okay?"

Riki nodded. "It's a wonderful day for Heropon! Sun is shining, birds are singing, and the world—"

Without warning, a loud bang interrupted the Nopon's words. A huge chunk of wall burst out, sending Riki flying through the adjacent wall, leaving a Nopon-shaped hole through brick and concrete.

Yuri gasped and fell backward as another explosion rang out. A small object shaped like a mouse scuttled out from the hole in the wall, moving over the rubble and down the hall. After it moved a short distance, it flashed red and exploded, causing loose plaster to fall from the ceiling.

"Eee hee hee hee!"

Out popped Skull Kid, a bundle of Bombchus in his hand. He grabbed a handful and tossed them into the air, sending them scurrying in different directions. He briefly locked eyes with Yuri. "What're you looking at?" he said, tossing another Bombchu over his shoulder.

Yuri got up. "Skull Kid, what the hell are you doing?!" she asked.

"What does it look like?" asked Skull Kid briskly. He tossed another bomb over his shoulder. It scooted away and turned a corner. Another explosion rumbled through the hall, along with the sound of someone screaming.

"That's quite enough, Skull Kid!"

Yuri and Skull Kid wheeled around to face the speaker. A tall robot clad in red armor and a long, flowing ponytail was standing in the doorway. A blade of glowing blue energy was in his grip. He stared down at Skull Kid with a stony expression. "Where did you find those, Skull Kid?" he asked.

The imp stared curiously at the robot. "I found 'em in the inventory," he grunted. "It was a real maze in there. Why do you want to know?"

The robot simply narrowed his eyes. "I don't remember you being on inventory duty today. What's more, items are not allowed outside of matches except in extenuating circumstances. Why are you holding Bombchus?"

Skull Kid floated to the ground, clearly caught in the act. "...Who, me? I just, er, found these lying around! So I figured I'd just get rid of some of the extras!"

Yuri and the robot exchanged a glance. Neither of them were fooled by the imp's story. "Well, then," began the robot, "if that's the case, then you wouldn't mind if I took those off your hands." He extended his hand, expecting Skull Kid to take the hint.

Skull Kid stared at the robot's hand. He seemed to be pouting, even through his mask. At last, he sighed and dropped the remaining explosives into the robot's palm. "...Here. You can put it back, I guess." And with those words, Skull Kid glumly floated off down the hallway and disappeared around a corner.

The robot sighed as he held the Bombchus in his arms. "That Skull Kid…" he murmured. He turned to face Yuri. "Oh… I don't think we've met before. Who are you?"

Yuri bowed slightly. "My name is Yuri Kozukata. I'm one of the newer assistants here…"

The robot nodded in acknowledgement. "You, too, huh? My name is Zero. I'm a Maverick Hunter from Abel City. It's nice to meet you." He extended his arm in greeting, a contrast to his stiff and impassive face.

The young woman awkwardly took Zero's hand and shook it. "Nice meeting you, too." There was a long, awkward silence.

…

…

"...I'm sorry," said Zero at last. "Axl always said that I need to, er, loosen up, so…" He trailed off, choosing to take interest in a passing butterfly outside.

Yuri nodded. "Yeah, I get it. Back home, I have a friend, Hisoka… she'd tell me the same thing."

More silence. Yuri fiddled with her shirt, while Zero tapped his foot on the ground. A passing breeze ruffled a curtain and blew Yuri's hair back, not in a dramatic way as in her favorite movies, but in a less noble way that got a few strands of hair in her eyes.

"...I should go," said Zero at last.

"Yeah, I… Me, too," said Yuri. She turned to go, only to stop when she realized that Zero was headed in the same direction. "Oh, were you—"

"Ah— ah," stammered Zero. He, too, paused when he realized where he was going. He turned to go, but caught himself when he realized that Yuri was walking in the same direction. "Wait— wait a second—"

Yuri stopped in her tracks. "Here, let me—" The two were now facing each other. She decided to simply walk past Zero, only to nearly collide with him in the process. "I… aw, jeez."

Zero cringed as he realized what he was doing. "Oh, sorry, let me—" He attempted to sidestep and pass Yuri, but she ended up mirroring his movement, placing them in the same position.

"Ah, come on—"muttered Yuri. She attempted to move in the opposite direction, but to her dismay, Zero had done the same thing.

"Um…"

"Hold on…"

This continued for fifteen agonizing seconds.

At last Zero decided to simply stay put, allowing Yuri to pass. She went on her way, with Zero following suit, both of them eager to put the world's worst tango behind them.

Yuri gave a heavy sigh as she walked down the halls with no real destination in mind. If she was being honest with herself, she really just wanted to get away from that awful interaction she just had. But it wasn't like she disliked Zero! It was just that they'd had a really bad first meeting. Perhaps things would go better the next time they met.

As Yuri contemplated these things, she noticed someone inside the room she almost passed. An older gentleman with a thick white beard was standing at the front of the room, holding a paintbrush in his hand. He seemed to be teaching a selection of others, including a green-haired woman in a red tunic, a tall, thin and grouchy-looking man, and a cyborg with a glowing orange light right between his eyes, all of whom were standing in front of their own easels. Upon noticing Yuri, the bearded man waved at her. "Ah, hello! Are you here for today's art lesson?"

"Hmmm? Oh, I mean, if you'll have me, I guess," said Yuri. As she walked in, the green-haired woman waved excitedly, while the tall man simply scoffed and turned back to his canvas.

"Now that everyone is here, we can begin, said the bearded man. "My name is Vince, and I am one of the lucky few chosen to be an Assist Trophy in this new era of Super Smash Bros."

To Yuri's right, the tall man snorted and rolled his eyes. Vince went on. "It is truly a great honor to see so many new people and discover so many new worlds. In my time here, I have heard of many worlds troubled by chaos and bloodshed. My greatest hope is that painting can provide a brief respite from the strife in your lives."

There was a brief pause as they took in his words. "Perhaps some of you are accomplished artists in your world, or maybe you've never so much as picked up a paintbrush in your life. At any rate, you're about to become part of a grand tradition stretching back thousands of years. Now, with that out of the way, let us begin the first lesson." He took out a piece of chalk and began to write on the chalkboard behind him:

Still Life:

Fruit

"Still life," explained Vince, "is one of visual art's most enduring genres, with fruit in particular featuring heavily within the genre. It's quite popular among beginners, as it can be broken down into three basic elements: shape, color, and texture. Today, we shall focus on fruit, in particular one of my personal favorites…" He reached into his pocket and pulled a red, shiny tomato. "The tomato. Let's start with the linework…"

The assistants took out their pencils and set to work. As they made their first few strokes, the green haired woman leaned closer to Yuri. "Excuse me, I don't think we've met before," she whispered. "I'm Tiki, and that's Gray Fox over there." She gestured at the cyborg, who only looked briefly at her before returning to his art. "Who might you be?"

"My name is Yuri Kozukata," said Yuri, taking Tiki's hand to shake. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Ah, you're from Fatal Frame, right? I do remember that. Quite the underrated gem, that one," said Tiki with a wink.

Yuri opened her mouth to say something, but was rudely interrupted by the tall man right beside her. "Oh, puh-leeze," he drawled with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "You can't underrate something if it's not worth anything to start with."

Both women glared at Waluigi as they continued drawing. "Oh, leave her alone," chided Tiki. "At least she actually has a starring role."

"Shut up, anime girl! What good is a starring role if it's in a failed project?!" retorted Waluigi.

Tiki clenched her jaw and clutched at a mysterious stone on her person, but seemed to decide against it after a quick glance at Gray Fox. Yuri stopped drawing the sepal of her tomato to face the man directly. "What is your problem?" she asked heatedly. "Who even are you?"

"Me? I'm just the one guy among all of you losers that actually deserved to get in." he answered in a falsely humble manner. "But everyone calls me Waluigi."

Yuri had heard the name Waluigi from the murmurings of some of the other Assist Trophies, most of it a complaint of some form. "Ohhh, you're that guy. The guy no one likes," she remarked.

Tiki stifled a giggle as Waluigi grimaced even further. Even Gray Fox paused his sketching to glance at them. "Waaah! Go ahead and laugh! But mark my words, one day I'll be the number-one superstar of the world!"

"Ignore him, Yuri," came Gray Fox's raspy voice from behind his easel. "I've worked with Waluigi before. He's been like this since the first Assist Trophy program, unable to appreciate the opportunity he's been given."

"Bah!" said Waluigi scornfully. "You may be content with your lot, but I refuse to be on the same level as you lowlifes!" He turned back to his easel, glaring daggers at Yuri as he applied the first layer of paint.

Time passed, and the lesson went on, with Vince walking around the room and giving pointers to those who needed it. Eventually, he returned to the front of the room and said, "Alright, I suppose that's enough for one day. You are free to take your art with you or simply leave it here for others to admire. Next time, we start on charcoal! I hope to see you there!"

All the assistants got up and headed for the exit. "Oh, Yuri, yours turned out so nicely! You're so talented!" said Tiki.

"Wow, th-thank you!" replied Yuri. She honestly hadn't had much experience in painting, but now that she looked at it… "Your picture looks great, too! And even yours, too!" she added, gesturing at Gray Fox.

The cyborg paused, caught off guard by the genuine compliment. He stared at his painting, the orange light on his helmet glowing steadily. "…I suppose it did," he murmured.

As the three of them stood there admiring each other's art and giving each other pointers, Waluigi stomped past them, his painting tucked under one arm. "Opportunities… waaah, I'll show them…" he muttered under his breath. "Hey, move it! Out of my way, nonachievers!"

Tiki glared at the man as he walked off. "Gods, he's annoying. How does Mario put up with him?" She turned back to Yuri with a sympathetic smile. "At any rate, I guess I'll see you around, then." She turned and left, her painting in one hand and that strange stone she held in the other.

"I suppose I, too, must take my leave," said Gray Fox. He nodded at Yuri. "Farewell, Yuri Kozukata. And remember…" His voice was raspy, yet genuine. "You're much braver than you think you are. Let your position as an Assist Trophy stand as a testament to your skill." And with those words, Gray Fox turned and did a quite impressive backflip out a nearby window.

But not before opening it first.

Yuri smiled at her painting as she ascended a flight of stairs. Ever since Tiki brought it up, it did look pretty nice… And honestly, Tiki seemed pretty nice, too! She was new to the Assist Trophy program, but she kept a bright outlook, in spite of Waluigi's negativity! She definitely seemed like a good friend.

…It occurred to Yuri that she didn't have anyone that she could really consider a friend. Acquaintances and colleagues, sure, but no one she was particularly close to.

Until today, she supposed.

"Heeey…"

In such a bizarre world, it would be nice to have someone to confide in…

"Heeey…!"

Maybe at some point, she'd invite Tiki over for tea and—

"Heeey! Over here!"

Running towards Yuri was a very short boy clad in a blue-and-beige spacesuit. The antenna on his helmet trailed behind him as he ran, with three plant-like creatures following him. He nearly collided with Yuri as he caught up with her. "Hey! Hey, it's you!" he said, smiling widely.

"Oh… heeeey," said Yuri, a little surprised by the spaceboy's arrival, and a little disquieted by the walking plants next to him. Something about the boy was familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. "Do I know you?" she asked.

"Oh, you don't remember me?" said the boy, a little flattened by her response. "It's me, Alph! I'm from PNF-404!"

"Ah." Okay, now she had a name to the face, but she still didn't know where she knew him.

"We were on Wii U together! Remember that party at the end of 2015?"

"Oh, yeah!" Now the memories were coming back! "That was the year those squid people came around, right?"

Alph nodded. "Remember when Bowser fell into that pool filled with ink? Man, it makes me almost miss those days…" He glanced at the painting Yuri was holding. "Oooh! That's a nice drawing of a Sunseed Berry you got there!"

Yuri reflexively bowed in gratitude, Alph's odd terminology sinking in. "I'm sorry, a what?"

"A Sunseed Berry!" repeated Alph. Before he could launch into an expository speech, he stopped and took a closer look at the painting. "…Or is that an Insect Condo?" he said tentatively.

"It's… it's a tomato," explained Yuri.

"Oh." Alph thought about this new information for a moment. "Well, that's a pretty weird thing to name a fruit," he said at last. One of the plant creatures at his side stared at the painting in a scrutinizing manner.

The topic of fruit led to yet more conversation. As the two walked, they talked at length about their adventures, about the points where all seemed lost, and their most prominent moments of triumph. Yuri even showed Alph her Camera Obscura, and compared it to a strange gadget of his that he called his KopPad. To their surprise, they learned that in spite of their vastly different appearances and functions, the two devices were actually quite similar in build and framework, almost as if they were derived from the same model hardware.

Their stroll led them to the billiards room, where several Smashers and Assist Trophies were sitting at tables shooting the breeze, having a drink or two, or simply people-watching, like the Nightmare Wizard seemed to be doing.

Yuri and Alph sat down at a table. Some of the people present glanced at them in acknowledgement, but gave no salutation. In particular, Wario and Waluigi briefly looked at them, exchanged a few hushed words, and chortled between themselves, sneaking covert glances at the duo all the while.

"So, anyways," said Yuri, "how have you been enjoying the tournament so far?"

"Oh, yeah, plenty!" replied Alph enthusiastically. "Just yesterday, I was in a match against Captain Falcon on that Delfino Plaza stage! So he starts out with a Raptor Boost right out of the gate, and I'm thinking 'no way', so then I…"

As Yuri listened to Alph prattle on, her eyes fell on Wario and Waluigi again, who were talking with each other again. The taller man nudged the shorter one, and not-so-furtively pointed at Yuri. Wario glanced over his shoulder to peer at the girl. He made a face, then turned back to Waluigi, snickering alongside him.

Yuri simply rolled her eyes as she turned back to Alph, who was finishing up his little anecdote. "...With a xylophone! Isn't that hilarious?" he asked.

Oh, wait. "Ummm…" She shifted around in her seat, trying to think of something to say with what little she had picked up. "Yeah, that's… that's great." she said lamely.

Alph stopped smiling. The plant creatures beside him stared up at Yuri and tilted their heads, looking exactly as if they were asking a question. "Were… were you listening at all?" he asked, imitating the head tilt of his comrades. Yuri could only wince and shrug apologetically.

"Oh, it's… it's fine. No, really! It's okay," added Alph hastily, seeing Yuri about to blurt out an apology. The Koppaite rested his helmet in a gloved hand and. "It's just…" He paused, and seemed to briefly consider his words. "Do… do you ever feel like people forget about you?"

A derisive-sounding snort came from Wario and Waluigi's table. Alph tried to ignore it, but a telltale twitch of his eye gave away his true feeling on the matter. "Like, in the last tournament, I got invited, and it was a really big deal, you know? But then, when I got here, they told me I'd only be Captain Olimar's alternate, to use the same moves as him when he's unavailable. N-not that I resent him for that, no! The Captain's really great, honest! But still, they invited Lucina and Dark Pit, and they got to be their own fighters…

"So that tournament comes and goes, and then they announce this tournament. They show off this new 'Echo Fighter' thing, and so I figure this is my big chance! I sign up for it, detail all my proposed differences, all that jazz. I was thinking I was gonna use Rock Pikmin instead of the purple ones," he added, gesturing to one of the creatures beside him. "Anyways, I send in my application, and you know what happens? Not even twenty-four hours later, I get a rejection. Saying I'm 'not different enough'. And now that we've got more people getting invited, I'm probably gonna get left in the dust again," Alph pouted. Yuri was silent, sensing the rancor from the boy's otherwise cheerful face. From the corner, the Nightmare Wizard gazed at them dispassionately.

"But you know, it could be worse," concluded Alph with a shrug. "Not everyone gets to be invited, so I guess I'm one of the lucky ones. And at least I'm an actual fighter, and not just an Assist—" He paused, face blanching with horror at what he was saying. "Ohmigosh, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, I completely forgot you were— I didn't mean that you were somehow— it's just that everyone says it's the worst thing that—"

"Hey, it's okay!" interrupted Yuri. "It's fine, you didn't mean anything by it!" Alph calmed down a bit, but still looked guiltily down at the floor. Vince's art class echoed in Yuri's mind. You may be content with your lot, but I refuse to be on the same level as you lowlifes…

Let your position as an Assist Trophy stand as a testament to your skill…

"I know how you feel," admitted Yuri.

Alph looked up at her. "You do?"

Yuri nodded and lowered her voice. "We Assist Trophies, we barely get any of the attention that the fighters get. Plus, I was in Fatal Frame. I know all too well what it's like to be forgotten. But you know what? I say we make sure no one forgets us! Fight as hard as you can, and make them remember the name Alph! And if someone gives you a hard time, I say fight even harder!"

That seemed to lift Alph's spirits a bit. "…You're right," said the explorer, nodding his head. "And you know, this is a team effort! We're gonna take our place in history together!"

Yuri smiled as the Pikmin surrounding Alph cheered. Off to the side, Waluigi scowled into his coffee, while Wario simply downed his cup, uncaring of the events beside him. They were right as far as Yuri was concerned. If they were gonna be here at all, they were gonna make sure every moment counted! Very soon, everyone would recognize their names! So they sat, filled with a newfound determination to show the world who they were.

So much so, that they didn't even notice that the Nightmare Wizard had disappeared from the room…

Chapter Text

"Waaaah…"

"Uhh… is everything okay, man?"

Spring Man and Isaac frowned at the lanky man sitting at the table. He didn't seem to pay the two any mind, instead choosing to glare out the door at passersby. "Look at them," he grumbled.

"...Look at who, exactly?"

Waluigi jerked a thumb in the direction of the hallway. "You know," he said. "Them."

Both the assistants poked their heads out the door to see what the man was talking about. To their left, Incineroar could be seen showing off for some of the younger Smashers, flexing his muscles. To the right, they could see Princess Daisy taking a walk with Luigi, clearly enjoying herself. And right in front of them, the water Pokémon Greninja was wiping some dirt off a framed portrait of Yoshi. The moment after he hung it back on the wall and walked away, a shoal of Inklings rushed past, one of them accidentally knocking it loose with their weapon and sending the portrait crashing to the floor. Greninja sighed and left to get a broom.

In other words, business as usual.

"...I don't get it," said Spring Man at last. "What am I looking for?"

"Isn't it obvious?!" said Waluigi, standing up. "Look at all of those nobodies waltzing around, when it should be me out there in the spotlight! Especially him," he added, pointing at a young man in a school uniform who was accompanied by a cat. "They'll pick any random schmuck that's got a fancy new gig, but not Waluigi…"

Spring Man simply looked even more confused, while Isaac just pinched the bridge of his nose. "This again…" he sighed.

"Yes, this again!" retorted Waluigi. By now, several other Assist Trophies, including Knuckles and a man with a ponytail wielding a katana, had paused their activities to listen to the purple man's lament. "Let me tell you a story. It all started—"

"Oh, jeez, here we go," said Knuckles, who had heard this story many times before.

"—a long time ago, in the last tournament. Waluigi was one of the top candidates to join the battle, you know. But who did they add? That space girl and all of Bowser's horrible children! And then they put Waluigi back on as a B-lister again! It's-a not fair! So then…"

Isaac had grown tired of Waluigi's bellyaching. He tuned him out and made his way toward the table where Knuckles was sitting. "This guy again, am I right?" he muttered.

"Indeed," sighed Takamaru, the katana-wielding man. "It seems that every day, his complaints grow worse and worse."

"Yeah, and it was even worse during the Olympics," sighed Knuckles, rubbing his temples. "Every other word out of his mouth was—" here, Knuckles put on his best Waluigi impression— "It was, 'it's-a not fair!' or 'everybody's cheating!' He's just such a drain, y'know? It's a wonder Mario and his friends even put up with him…"

Isaac stifled a giggle at Knuckles' imitation. "Was he this bad last tournament?" he asked.

Takamaru nodded solemnly. "I do remember he was very hostile towards the lady of the stars. Mercifully, nothing too bad happened between them. Of course, he tried it again later when the Koopa prince joined the tournament. He…" A small smile played on the samurai's lips. "His father nearly snapped him in two."

Both Isaac and Knuckles burst into giggle fits. Even the samurai, normally stoic and stalwart, had to hide his laughter behind his sleeve.

By now, Waluigi was finishing up his story. "And now, here I am, stuck in the dregs with the rest of you losers," he sighed. "This whole thing is a sham…"

"Are you quite done yet?" asked Hammer Brother, a Koopa soldier with a helmet on his head and a hammer in his hand. "We've heard this spiel like, seven times this week."

Waluigi sneered down at the turtle. "I'm just speaking the truth! Look at me, stuck here rotting and languishing with the lowest of the low! Why do I have to be stuck here with the likes of you?"

Isaac pouted as he turned in his chair to face the purple-clad man. "What do you mean, "the likes of us?" he asked warily.

"You know, the dregs. The refuse, the riff-raff, the underclass of this shindig," explained Waluigi. "In other words," he added in an undertone, "everyone else in this room."

"I heard that!" barked Knuckles. "Who are you calling the 'underclass'?! We've all been in plenty of adventures!"

"Indeed," nodded Takamaru behind the echidna. "In fact, most of us have been on more adventures than you."

Waluigi sneered. "Oh, really?" he scoffed. "Well, what about you? You haven't done anything since the eighties!" He pointed an accusing finger at Baito, who was standing by the coffee maker. "Or you!"

Baito blinked, clearly not expecting to be dragged into the discussion. "H-huh? Oh, hey, Waluigi. What did you need?"

"What kind of adventureshave you been on?!" asked Waluigi.

The rabbit was slightly taken aback. "Er… adventures? Well, I… I haven't been on an adventure, per se, but I ran the Badge Arcade with Nikki for a few years…"

"Really?" scoffed the purple man. "And how's that Badge Arcade holding up now?"

"It's, uh…" Baito seemed uncomfortable. "I mean, it's still going but… they stopped adding new badges to the rotation, so…"

"So," said Waluigi, his eyebrow raising and his lip curling, "you've been abandoned, then."

Knuckles pounded his fists together and started to stand up, but Takamaru put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "Don't do anything foolish," whispered the samurai.

Baito looked down at the floor. "What do you mean, abandoned?" he asked quietly.

"I mean, let's look at the facts," replied Waluigi flippantly. "You've had exactly one measly gig that wasn't even a real gig, and didn't even bring in that much attention otherwise. Then they tried to bring in some new badges to pump some life into it, and, I will concede, it worked out okay. But then again, it was one of those—ugh!—microtransactions," he hissed. "And now look at you, running your measly little shop and barely scraping by as an assistant… If that doesn't scream abandonment, I don't know what does."

At this, Isaac slowly and deliberately got up. "Lay off him, Waluigi," he warned.

Waluigi simply scowled down at the boy. "Of course, the fellow reject comes to defend him."

Isaac simply crossed his arms over his chest and took a deep breath. "Look, man, it's just that… Baito is new, you know? It's not his fault his thing got shut down. The last thing he needs is your negativity souring things for him."

"Bah! I'm just speaking the truth!" spat Waluigi. "Him, you, that knucklehead—" he jabbed a thumb at Knuckles for emphasis— "you're all a bunch of damp squibs!"

There was a silence as everyone present paused to digest the man's words. "...A damp squib?" asked Baito, who was more confused than hurt.

"Who's calling people damp squibs?" came an unfamiliar voice.

Everyone present turned to face the source of the sound. A red bird had poked her head inside the main lounge, glancing contemptuously around the room.

"Wah? Who are you?" asked Waluigi.

"I should ask the same thing," replied the bird. "Banjo, get in here! Who are these guys?"

"Alright, I'm coming…"

Footsteps were heard just outside. The door opened, and a bear wearing shorts and a blue backpack walked in. From the honeycomb in his hand and the honey around his mouth, it seemed he was in the middle of a mid-morning snack. He seemed surprised to see such a colorful cast staring back at him, nearly dropping his honeycomb. "Ummm… hello," he greeted, awkwardly waving a paw. "Kazooie, who are they?" he whispered to the bird.

The bird, evidently Kazooie, shrugged. "Beats me." She turned to face everyone. "Who are you people? Are you new fighters or something?"

An ambiance of disappointment spread throughout the room, something that Banjo and Kazooie quickly picked up on. "No," said Takamaru at last. "This is the room for the Assist Trophies."

"Ohhh," said Kazooie, clarity crossing her face. "This is the place for the also-rans."

Banjo looked shocked. "Kazooie!"

"Hey, I'm just stating the facts, Banjo," said Kazooie with a shrug of her wings. She peered over at Knuckles. "See, look. Case in point. They let that no-hoper in here."

"E-excuse me?!" growled Knuckles, standing up. "Who are you calling a no-hoper?!"

"Well, I was aiming at you," smirked Kazooie, "but I feel like that goes for most of you, doesn't it?"

"Okay, Kazooie, I think that's enough," interrupted Banjo, looking nervously at the increasingly angry-looking crowd and feeling more and more like he'd rather be anywhere else. "I mean, they're not all no-hopers! Look at, uh, Krystal! She's one of our colleagues, remember?"

"Huh?" Kazooie craned her neck to get a better look at the vixen. "Wow, they actually plucked her offa that dinosaur planet? They musta dug deep for that." She turned back to the crowd. "So let's see, we've got a couple of no-hopers, some runners-up, small potatoes, a handful of has-beens, aaand...the ghosts from Pac-Man, I guess. And then there's you," she concluded, turning to the thin, wiry man at last.

"What about me?" hissed Waluigi. In the background, Banjo covered his face with a paw, silently praying a fight wouldn't break out.

"You, of course," replied Kazooie, simpering smirk creeping up her beak. "You, who's never had an adventure of your own, always being passed over in favor of the real VIPs… or a plant." The breegull leaned in close, close enough to lower her voice to a still-audible whisper. "The dampest squib of all."

Waluigi glared at Kazooie as though she was the proverbial doorknob that had snagged the headphones off his ears. "Why, you…!"

"Okay, I think that's enough," cut in Banjo, seizing Kazooie by her neck and shoving her inside his backpack. "I'm sorry for any frustration my friend has caused," he said, beginning to back away from Waluigi's angry glare.

Quick as a whip, Waluigi brandished his tennis racket. "You cheaters!" he yelled as he lunged towards the bear.

Luckily, Banjo was quick enough to avoid the initial swing of the tennis racket. He leapt back out of the room and bolted down the hallway as fast as his legs could carry him. As he fled, Kazooie poked her head out to blow a parting raspberry at the group. "Have fun in the trash bin, washouts!" she called as Banjo turned a corner.

There was a tense, sullen ambience in the room. Everyone was shocked into silence. No one knew how to respond to Kazooie's mockery. At last, Starfy's voice cut through the quiet. "She… she didn't really mean it, did she?"

"Of course she meant it!" growled Waluigi. "Look at us! Stuck on the sidelines, while those overrated losers hog the spotlight! Well, I'm not like the rest of you. I'm actually an asset to this establishment! I'm-a gonna go show those losers what-for! Waaa!" And with that declaration, Waluigi stomped out, leaving his coworkers to ruminate on his words.

Waluigi's words had quite a lasting effect on the Assist Trophies. After his little outburst, it seemed that everyone was in a sour mood that day. Some of the more chipper assistants, like Starfy and Spring Man, were notably more sullen and glum, while the crabbier assistants like Shadow were even snappier than they usually were. As a matter of fact, when Samurai Goroh was summoned later that day, he wasted no time recklessly slashing not only at his opponents Shulk and Ganondorf, but at his summoner Ness as well, claiming that "the stage was too crowded". Not many people bought his claim (least of all Ness), but no one could prove it either.

At lunchtime, Knuckles walked up to where Isaac, Phosphora and Spring Man were sitting and slammed his tray of fruit salad on the table. He flopped down in his chair with a huff, crossing his arms.

"…Rough day?" supplied Spring Man.

"It's just… Waluigi's such a scumbag, y'know?!" grouched Knuckles. He picked miserably at an apple slice on his plate. "Like, we know that being an Assist Trophy is the worst thing that ever happened to you. We get it, alright?!"

Phosphora nodded in agreement. "I dunno how anyone's able to be in the same room as him for more than five seconds. He's like, every jerk we've ever known rolled into one!"

"He wasn't this bad back in the Brawl tournament," mumbled Isaac, idly picking at his food. "I mean, he was still a jerk, but back then, all that happened was that he had it out for Luigi."

"And now," said Knuckles, head in his hands, "he has it out for everyone else. I mean, seriously, who does he think he is, putting everyone down like that?"

Spring Man cleared his throat. "Well, I can't say I know him that well, but he definitely seems like a… like a jerk." His spiraled eyes were downcast. "Baito… Baito didn't deserve that." A hum of approval went through the table.

"Hey, are you guys talking about me?"

The rabbit in question was approaching their table. His normally light, upbeat steps were slow and plodding, and his ears were lowered in an uncharacteristic droop. He flopped down in the seat next to Knuckles and sighed deeply.

Knuckles looked over at the rabbit. "Hey, you alright?" he asked hesitantly.

"I'm… I'm okay." Baito's normally chipper voice was subdued and quiet.

"Hey, y'know, listen," began Knuckles. "Waluigi talks a big game about how he's so much better than everyone else, and how everyone else is just a bunch of cheaters, but y'know what? I know for a fact that he's just a self-important blowhard. Don't let 'im get to you."

"And you know what?" added Isaac. "So what if the Badge Arcade had microtransactions? Lots of people around here have done work with microtransactions!"

"Those are mostly, like… gacha games, though," said Phosphora, wrinkling her nose.

Everyone winced at mention of the genre. Nobody would dare appear in a gacha game if they could help it. Even some of the more unscrupulous among the Assist Trophies would balk at the offer of a gacha game, even if they were told it would be their key to fame. Isaac quickly realized that his statement wasn't as helpful as he thought it would be. "Yeah, never mind," he mumbled, turning his eyes to the ground.

Spring Man tried to change the subject. "At any rate, you certainly haven't been abandoned. Try to look towards the future! Let's see… maybe… maybe the higher-ups could retool the Badge Arcade to customize the Home Menu! I mean, who doesn't love badges? Am I right?" He glanced around at the others, expecting assent.

There was no response. Knuckles looked awkwardly away, while Phosphora picked at her sautéed fish. "I like badges," mumbled Isaac.

"Or, you know, umm…" Spring Man racked his brain for an idea. "Oh! I hear there's some really great opportunities in the Animal Forest! I'm sure they'd welcome you with open arms!"

Baito briefly glanced at Spring Man. "Yeah, I guess," he said softly.

Spring Man nodded excitedly. Another idea suddenly came to him. Biting back a grin, he declared, "I'm sure they'd welcome you with open arms!" He stretched out his spring-like arms in a goofy flexing gesture.

Nobody laughed.

"Open arms." he repeated. "Arms. …'Cause I got… the arms."

"I get it," said Phosphora, only barely smirking.

"Anyways," said Isaac, eager to steer the conversation away from any more arm-related puns, "the point is, you haven't been abandoned. You're still running the Trophy Shop, right? The fact that you're here at all is proof that they saw something in you! And who knows? Maybe you could be a dark horse candidate for the next tournament!"

Phosphora pulled a hesitant face. "Ehhhh…"

"I mean, he could!" added Isaac hurriedly. "Just look at Richter! No one really expected him to get invited!"

"He… wasn't an Assist Trophy, though," replied Knuckles.

"Plus, I hear he's pretty prominent in some circles," added Spring Man.

"The point is," said Isaac, "Baito still has a chance to get in next time!"

Phosphora looked sideways at Isaac. "Again, ehhhh…"

Knuckles shot her a look. "Phosphora, come on."

"I mean, realistically, though!" she said defensively. "Like, I don't mean this in a mean way, but what makes Baito so special?"

"Guys, it's okay. I get it."

Everyone at the table paused to look at Baito. He hadn't spoken at all through the whole conversation. His face was dour, and his voice was low but plainly dejected.

"I get what you guys are saying. I know popularity isn't everything. I'm not about to pretend like I'm super legendary like Mario or Link. I consider myself really lucky to be here." Baito sighed lightly. "Anyways, I should… I should go get the Trophy Shop ready." With those final words, the rabbit got up and trudged away, with the other assistants looking sadly after him.

A heavy fog hung in the air.

The day's matches came and went in a whirlwind of activity and explosive crates. The assistants had headed back to the lounge to freshen up after dinnertime. But that evening was different. Instead of the laid-back, relaxed atmosphere that was normally present after dinner, there was a strained, uncomfortable silence as everyone busied themselves with their own affairs, giving each other a wider berth than normal. For Bomberman, the silence was unbearable.

"So!" he said, clapping his hands. "How was everyone's day today?" he asked the room.

The room didn't answer. The only sound was from Midna, quietly sipping her Pep Brew.

"Um… did you guys see that match between Peach and Samus today? That was… that was fun…" said the robot, his voice trailing off.

This time, Knuckles grunted in acknowledgement, staring off into space. Bomberman perked up a little. Okay, that was good! He was making progress! "Yeah, I sure hope they saved the replay for that one!" laughed the robot. "I, uhh… I sure hope I get summoned tomorrow!"

"Why? So you can get mauled again?" asked Ashley, not even bothering to look up from her cauldron.

"Er—" Bomberman was a little caught off-guard. It was true that he had gotten beaten up in the last couple of matches that he had been summoned, but he still managed to score a couple of points! He decided to change the subject. "I hear Snake is gonna fight Banjo and Kazooie tomorrow! Isn't that—"

This time, the silence was broken by Knuckles' sudden angry exclamation, making everyone jump. The echidna huffed and sat back down, muttering to himself. "Stupid bird… who's a no-hoper…"

Oh, yeah. That. Bomberman hadn't been present at the time, but he had heard of the conflict that had arisen when Kazooie had popped in for a visit. Based on eyewitness accounts, the bird had rather coldly slandered most of the assistants present, coming to a head when Waluigi had attacked. Speaking of which…

"Hey," said Bomberman out loud. "Where is Waluigi, anyway?"

The reaction was immediate. Ashley pounded on the rim of her cauldron, Midna threw her drink on the ground, and Knuckles slammed his fists on the couch, while Krystal just sighed loudly.

Bomberman looked surprised. "What? I was just asking where—"

Knuckles stopped him. "Don't… don't bring up that…" He paused, noticing that the young Starfy had wandered into the room. "That jerk," he finished.

"O-oh…" The robot guiltily looked down at the floor. He supposed that was to be expected. "Yeah, he's kind of a jerk."

"Waaaah…"

Like an unsightly worm in a seemingly delicious, juicy Gala apple, Waluigi suddenly appeared in the doorway. This time, he appeared even crabbier than usual, with gnashing teeth, clenched fists, and throbbing veins on his temples.

"See what you did?" said an exasperated Knuckles. "Speak of the devil, you know."

The purple-clad man said nothing as he stomped into the lounge and flopped down onto the couch, grumbling and muttering. "Everybody else gets a starring role, but nooo, not Waluigi. Never Waluigi…"

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. No one seemed willing to make the first move. At that moment, Baito walked in, wiping sweat from his brow. "Phew! What a day!" he yawned. "I must've gotten summoned like, twelve times today! And some of those were on that Dracula's Castle stage! I know I can't really get hurt in these matches, but those monsters really… really creep me out…"

Baito's voice trailed off as he glanced around the room, fully taking in the tired, irritated faces of his fellow assistants. He absentmindedly rubbed at his neck. "Umm… everything alright here?" he asked hesitantly.

"Oh, no, everything's fine," said Waluigi in a mock-jovial manner. "Everything's great. Wonderful, even. Everything's just hunky-dory!"

Baito was a bit taken aback by the sudden outburst. "You… you don't sound hunky-dory," he mumbled.

"Of course I don't!" shouted Waluigi, suddenly standing up. "It all started a long time—"

Waluigi's story was abruptly cut off by a purple bolt of light hitting him clean in the side of the head. Several people shouted in alarm. There was a burst of foul-smelling smoke, forcing everyone to cover their mouth, lest they inhale it and suffer the consequences. When the air had cleared, Waluigi was flat on the ground, lying face-down.

Except… he didn't really have a face to speak of.

Waluigi's entire head had been replaced by a large, fat-looking eggplant.

Baito's eyes were wide with shock. "Wh—?!"

"Ashley!" came the voice of Red. "Was it the eggplant spell again?!"

"Yeah." The witch gazed dispassionately at Waluigi.

Red appeared in a puff of smoke. "Jeez, Ashley, you gotta—" He stopped, noticing that Waluigi was touching his eggplant head, frantically searching for a face. "Oh, it was Wally?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, okay. Never mind, then." There was another burst of smoke, and Red was back in his scepter form.

"Y'know what, I'm gonna take this as an opportunity to hit the hay," said Knuckles, standing and stretching out his arms. "G'night, you guys."

One by one, the assistants plodded out of the main lounge and into their bedrooms. Spring Man, he noticed, had significantly less spring in his step. Waluigi waddled out the door, bumping his head on the doorframe in the process. The robot alone was left alone in his chair as a single lamp bathed the room in a warm light.

Bomberman sighed, resting his head in his hands. Things really were rough, it seemed. He understood that some people had a right to be bitter, but now it seemed like everyone was a little sour. He sat and looked at the moon outside, hanging lazily in the sky.

"Everything all right, Bomberman?" asked Baito.

Bomberman sighed again. "Not really, no." He turned to face the rabbit. "Listen, man, I'm… I'm sorry you had to see that."

"See Waluigi get an eggplant for a head?" asked Baito.

"What? No, I was—well, to be honest, yeah, that, too, but I was talking about what happened this morning with Waluigi and Kazooie. I wasn't there, but I heard."

Baito shook his head. "Nah, it's okay. I don't take those things too personally. Believe me, when the Badge Arcade was still open, I heard plenty worse." There was a heavy, thoughtful silence.

Bomberman put his hands behind his head. "Yeah. It's like there's a…" He paused, searching for the right words. "A… weird amount of… pessimism that people seem to have around here. Have you noticed that?"

Baito nodded. "Yeah, I can see that. Sometimes, I hear some guys talking about us around the water cooler. Stuff like 'the rejects' or 'that nobody over there'… or even 'that weirdo rabbit with the microtransactions'. And I'll be real with you, I don't really blame them for that last part."

Bomberman was quiet. His eyes fell to the ground. "...Oh," he said at last.

"But you know what bugs me the most?" continued Baito, staring up at the moon. "A lot of my colleagues around here will say that being an Assist Trophy is the worst thing that can happen to you. But I feel like they… they just can't see the forest for the trees. I mean, look around you! Mario is here! Pikachu is here! Sonic the Hedgehog is here! Pac-Man, Mega Man, and even you, Bomberman! I feel like this isn't just a tournament of the multiverse's greatest, this…" He motioned with his paws, unable to find the right words. "This is something more. Aren't they excited to be a part of all this?!"

Bomberman nodded sagely. "Yeah, I see what you mean. I just wish that other people saw it that way…"

"Mmm." Baito checked his watch. "Well, at any rate, I've gotta open the shop early tomorrow, so…" He took the robot's hand and shook it. "Take it easy, man." With those final words, the rabbit turned and left the room. The robot was now alone.

Bomberman let out a heavy sigh as he watched an ant crawl up the wall. Morale was really at an all-time low. Knuckles seemed miserable, Ashley was even grouchier than usual, and he hadn't even seen Isaac all day. Even Baito seemed a little down! What was he to do?

The robot trudged back into his bedroom and flopped down onto his bed. He stared up at the ceiling, as though doing so would give him an answer. The only thing it gave him was a headache. His mind drifted to the conversation he'd had with Lyn and Starfy all those weeks ago.

As long as you have loved ones, wherever they are, know that they're thinking of you… And when you have that, then you can do anything.

Bomberman thought of Planet Bomber, and the rest of the Bomberman Brothers. He thought it strange that they were referred to as such, despite the fact that two of them were girls. Then again, he supposed, it was probably like the Super Smash Brothers tournament he was in now.

The images of his siblings filled the robot's head as he closed his eyes. Red Bomber, who was always so fiery and passionate… he'd probably be psyched to be in a place like this. Yellow Bomber, always smiling, even if he had his head in the clouds most of the time… Pink Bomber, who was so bubbly and optimistic… if those three were here, maybe the other assistants wouldn't feel so down. Bomberman suddenly began to wonder how Chef Kawasaki was holding up; he hadn't heard from him in a while. The poor guy was probably being worked down to the bone!

What they needed, Bomberman thought, was a good pick-me-up. Something to lift everyone's spirits, a small breather from the stresses of the tournament. But what could he do…?

He knew that the manor had a couple of recreation rooms scattered around. Maybe he could do something there? Hmm…

…

…

"…That's it!"

Bomberman leapt up out of his bed, sat at his desk, and began to write. The night was still young, and the ideas were practically writing themselves. This was gonna be perfect! All he'd need to do was print some flyers out in the morning…

The next day, two specific Inklings, one clad in magenta and the other in green, were strolling down the hall, shooting the breeze with no clear destination in mind. The one in magenta was constantly glancing around with wide eyes, eagerly taking in all her surroundings. Her lime green-clad companion, however, was much less enthused, instead focusing on her phone.

"Hey, Marie?" asked the magenta Inkling.

"Yeah?" replied the green Inkling, not taking her eyes off her phone.

"You know werewolves?"

Marie stopped walking. "I'm sorry, what?" she said.

"You know, like werewolf-ism?" She hunched over and bared her teeth to illustrate.

Marie stared blankly at her. "That's lycanthropy, Callie," she said with a small smile.

"Yeah, that's the word!" replied Callie. "I was thinking, what if there was that, but with birds instead?"

Marie was silent. She seemed to ponder this scenario for a moment. "Hmmm… a werebird, huh?"

Callie nodded excitedly. "Yeah, like, would you be like, half-squid and half-bird, or would you just be a regular bird? Actually, now that I think about it, how would it even spread? Birds don't bite, as far as I know, so, like…"

"Well, you were the one that brought it up," replied Marie with a grin.

"Yeah, but—wait, what's that?" Something behind Marie had caught Callie's attention.

Marie turned around to see a cork bulletin board hanging on the wall. Stuck to the board was a colorful flyer, standing out among a sea of obsolete event notices and sticky notes with crude drawings on them. Both Inklings moved in closer to read it.

Bomberman's Blowout Bonanza!

Come have a blast, or simply relax!

All are welcome, from fighters to assistants to Final Smash helpers!

Located in Recreation Room B-3, West Wing

Saturday at 8 PM

The text was arranged to resemble a large, cartoony bomb.

Both Inklings stared as they took in the information. Marie was the first to speak. "This sounds really…"

"Cool!" finished Callie. "Marie, we should totally go."

"Ooooh, uhh…" Marie's face made an odd expression that was somewhere between hesitation and distaste. "You sure about that, Callie? I mean, 'Blowout Bonanza?' That title's really… how do I put this…" She fumbled for the right word. "Stupid."

"Oh, come on, it's a cute name! Look, 'have a blast'! That's hilarious! We should go to this thing!"

"Nah," said Marie, turning away.

"Come on," said Callie, positioning herself in front of her cousin. "Please?" she asked, putting on her best pleading face.

Marie was not taken in so easily. "You're gonna keep doing that until I say yes, aren't you?" she asked.

"Pretty much, yeah," shrugged Callie, still keeping the pleading face.

"Uuugh, fine," relented Marie, rolling her eyes. "But if it's lame, I'm bailing."

Elsewhere, Bomberman was quite busy indeed, putting up his flyers in every room he could reach. From the gym to the billiard room, to the cafeteria, to the trophy shop, a flyer could be seen hanging on the wall.

Bomberman was about to hang up another flyer in the library, but his hand slipped and it flew out of his hands. Mentally cursing the lack of fingers on his build, he put down the stack he had in his other hand to look for it. Just as he was about to pick it up, another hand plucked it off the ground from behind a bookshelf.

"Hmmm, what do we have here? Let's see… 'Blowout Bonanza', huh?"

A pink robot with an oblong head floating above his torso and hands with no visible arms was holding the paper, scratching his head. He was reading the flyer in a scrutinizing manner before noticing Bomberman standing in front of him. "Is this yours?" he asked.

"Hey, Sukapon," said Bomberman, offering a small wave in greeting. "Yeah, I'm setting something up soon. Do you wanna come?"

"Ha! Boy, do I!" Sukapon nodded, pointing at the flyer. "I mean, just look at that pun! 'Have a blast'! Hilarious!"

"I know, right?!" said Bomberman. "Gosh, it's so nice to meet someone who gets it, y'know?" As the two robots laughed over wordplay, a thought suddenly came to Bomberman. "Wait a minute, Sukapon. You… you're a comedian, right?"

Sukapon stood up a little straighter and held his floating head a little higher. "Sure am! After all, I was literally built for stand-up!"

"That's perfect!" said Bomberman, clapping his spherical hands. "Sukapon, you can be our entertainment that night!"

"R-really?" Sukapon stammered. "You want me at this shindig? Well, gosh, I'd love to! Luckily for you, I thought up a whole slew of jokes for just such an occasion! I'll gladly lend a hand for ya!" he added, waving around one of his floating hands.

Bomberman laughed. "Yeah, that's what I'm talking about! Bring some more of that on Saturday!"

As Sukapon left, Bomberman couldn't help but smile as his mind buzzed with ideas and anticipation. Sukapon was going to be a great opener! He'd put up flyers all over the place, so at least like, seventeen or eighteen people would show up. Plus, they could have a movie night, or play some Mario Kart, or even just sit and talk!

But first, he'd have to get some snacks! After all, snacks were probably the most important part of any party! He hoped that Chef Kawasaki would be willing to lend him something… Gosh, this was gonna be great!

The week passed in a whirlwind, and before anyone knew it, the weekend had arrived. On Saturday night, Bomberman was ready, with an assortment of chips and dips in bomb-shaped bowls, a fountain borrowed from Chef Kawasaki, and a fair amount of company consoles hooked up to a television. So far, everything was going great! All that was left to do was wait…

He didn't have to wait too long, for there was a distinct tappa-tap-tap at the door, just as he was getting out the fancy beverages. "Be right there!" said Bomberman as he jogged towards the door.

It was Sukapon, wearing a lavender bowtie on the top of his floating torso and looking quite nervous. "...Too much?" he asked, wringing his hands.

"No, no, it's fine," said Bomberman. "It's great. Come on in! Have something!"

"Man, oh, man… I'll admit, I'm a little nervous about this," said Sukapon as he placed a few barbeque chips on a paper plate. "I mean, this is the first time I've done this in what, twenty-seven years? What if I've gotten rusty?"

"Hey, you'll be fine!" reassured the white robot. "This is just a small thing between friends, so it's not like it'll make or break your career. Here, lemme hear some of what you got."

"Well… okay," said Sukapon. He straightened up and cleared his throat. "Hey, everyone, you ever been to that Pokémon Day Care? Yeah, I heard they got a new low cholesterol Pokémon… Butterfree!"

"Ah-ha! That's great! Low cholesterol…" laughed Bomberman. "Although… that one sounds kinda familiar…"

"Familiar?! You mean you've heard it before?!" cried Sukapon. He sank to the floor in despair. "Oh, man… I really am gettin' rusty…" he moaned.

"Hey, it's okay, it's okay! You're fine!" stammered Bomberman. Just then, another knock at the door called for his attention. "Coming!" said the robot as he hurried towards the door.

This time, Baito was standing there, dressed in his usual attire. "Hey, am I late? Did you guys start without me?"

"Oh, no, we were just getting started! Come on in!" replied Bomberman. The rabbit obliged, trotting over to the snack table and sampling some of the chips.

"Thank goodness! When I saw that flyer, I spent all night trying to make the perfect mixtape!" He took out a small flash drive from his pocket.

"Oh, did you?" asked Bomberman. This was going better than expected! "Well, what are you waiting for? Put on some tunes!"

Baito took out a laptop and plugged the flash drive in. He tapped a few keys on the keyboard, and peppy orchestral music filled the room:

"Saiko boru ga hikari hanachi,

Atena no sugata terashidasu no…"

"Oh, is that the new remix?" asked Bomberman. "I love that song!"

"Saiko pawa o kokoro ni himete,

Hateshinai michi o hashiru,

Ima wa mou aosora mienai kedo…"

Baito plucked out a microphone from his pocket and began to sing:

"Fire! Fire! Psycho Soldier!

Fire! Fire! Psycho Soldier!"

Sukapon stared at Baito with wide eyes. "Wow, I didn't know you could sing like that!"

Baito bashfully rubbed the back of his head. "Haha! Well, you know… Oh! By the way, did you know that this is the first game song to have lyrics?"

As the second verse began, Bomberman caught the sound of a light rapping at the door. "Just a second!" he called as he rushed towards the door.

The Squid Sisters were standing in the doorway, with Callie wearing a simple pink beanie and matching hoodie, while Marie had on a light green cap and shirt combo.

"Surprise!" said Callie, striking her iconic pose. "I hope we're not too late! I heard the music so I thought you were holding a concert without us!" Marie, who so far hadn't bothered to look up from her phone, simply offered a half-hearted wave in response. It was very clear to Bomberman which of the two was more enthused about the get-together.

"Hey, so glad you could make it!" greeted the robot with a smile. "We were actually just getting started when Baito brought his mixtape in! There's some refreshments in the back if you need anything!"

"Yeah, I'd love some! See, Marie?" nudged Callie to her cousin. "And you said this party was gonna be lame!"

"I'm still not convinced," said Marie, finally putting away her phone as she walked over to the couch.

"…Okay. Have fun." Bomberman was a little put down by her comments, but he remained undeterred. The Blowout Bonanza was going great, regardless of what Marie or anyone else said!

"Oh, by the way," said Callie as he piled her plate high with jalapeno chips, "I hope you don't mind if I invited a couple of people along."

"No, no, that's fine. That's great, actually!" said Bomberman. "It's like they always say, the more the merrier!"

In waddled Starfy, smile as wide as ever, gently bobbing to the music. "Hi, Mister Bomberman!" waved the star creature. Behind him, Knuckles and Takamaru padded into the room, the latter's hand drifting towards his katana. When the samurai glanced at Sukapon, he seemed to relax a bit.

"Hey, Starfy!" Bomberman knelt down and low-fived the little star.

Takamaru glanced around the room, at Sukapon looking through some note cards he had brought, at Baito clicking through his laptop to choose another song, and at Callie stuffing her face by the snack table. "If I may ask," he whispered to Bomberman, "what, exactly, is the purpose of this 'Blowout Bonanza'?"

"Hmm? Well, you see, I've noticed that a lot of people, like most of the Assist Trophies are just, weirdly… bitter about the tournament recently," explained the robot. "So I figured I'd try to cheer everyone up with a party!" He gestured around the room. "Y'know, a way to lift everyone's spirits!"

"I see," said Takamaru, looking around the room. "A respectable goal, I suppose."

"Yup!" nodded Bomberman. "No negative vibes allowed here!"

"Waaah!"

"Oh, come on."

Like a horrid, mustachioed roach in an otherwise lovely fruit cobbler, Waluigi popped into the doorway, now seventy percent less eggplant. Any and all activity died on the spot as he stomped into the rec room, his trademark scowl as unpleasant as ever. He paid no mind to the unimpressed looks sent his way. "What's this I hear about a shindig?" he asked the room.

Bomberman, picking up on the obvious tension in the room, stepped forward. "Hey, Waluigi. It's a party I'm holding to—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," interrupted Waluigi, twirling his mustache. "I read your dumb flyer. I just came along 'cause I didn't have anything better to do." He shoved past Callie towards the snack table and began to pile his plate high with salt and vinegar chips. "Oh yeah," he added through a mouthful of food, "I brought a guest."

A shiver went through the other assistants. Who would be awful (or unlucky) enough to attend any social gathering with Waluigi? As they pondered this question, the realization hit Bomberman like one of his own misplaced bombs. His skin prickled with irritation and a sudden weight made itself known in his core. Indeed, he could think of only one person that could tolerate Waluigi for more than ten or fifteen minutes at a time, and it could only be…!

"Wahahaha! It's-a me, Wario!"

Wario, clad in his classic yellow shirt and purple overalls, appeared in the doorway, much like a swarm of wasps would appear during a lovely picnic. But for Bomberman, the key difference was that wasps at least were valuable to gardens as biological pest control, whereas Wario provided no such benefit. And from the looks of things, his guests weren't terribly enthused about the new arrival either.

But Wario paid them no mind as he strutted towards the snack table, his large rear end swinging from side to side. He plunged his (thankfully) gloved hand directly into the bowl of onion and garlic flavored chip and poured them into his mouth, loudly chewing and making noises of pleasure as he did so.

"Oh, cod, no," said Marie, getting up and walking towards the exit.

Knuckles leaned over to whisper to Bomberman. "I know you had good intentions and all, but… why them?!" he hissed.

"I didn't invite anyone, per se," replied the robot, feeling the energy drain out of him as he watched Waluigi double dip his vinegar chips. "I left it open to all that were willing to come."

Starfy, the only one seemingly not bothered by Wario and Waluigi's presence, toddled up to the yellow-clad man. "Hi, Mister Wario! It's me, Starfy!"

"Eh?" Wario looked down at the star-creature staring up at him. "Oh, hey, kid." He offered Starfy some chips. "How's life been treatin' you?"

Bomberman couldn't believe what he was seeing. Starfy, so young, so innocent, walking up to Wario as though they were old friends? And Wario, so greedy, so crude, was actually being nice to him?! What was going on here?! He glanced at Knuckles, who seemed just as shocked as he did, eyes wide and jaw hanging to the floor. No, no, something was up. He had to get to the bottom of this.

"Excuse me!" he said, marching over to where Wario stood. "Wh—what's going on here?!"

Starfy looked inquisitively at the robot, while Wario simply sneered at him. "Whaddya want, Bomb Boy?" asked Wario disdainfully.

Bomberman glared at the man before taking a deep breath. "Wario. Starfy. How do you two know each other?"

"Oh! Oh!" Starfy jumped up and down eagerly. "He's my friend! He helped me save Pufftop once! And he shared some of his treasure with me!" He took out a copy of Wario's hat and placed it on his head. "It's-a me!" he imitated, stubby arms akimbo.

"Wahahaha! Excellent fashion sense!" laughed Wario. "Yeah, that was a good one."

Bomberman found himself struggling to parse this new information. Friends? From what he had heard, Wario only had a few friends, separate from Mario's usual crew. Helped him? Wario only ever helped anyone if he got something out of it. Sharing his treasure? Wario was loath to share anything, let alone treasure.

"Really?" said Bomberman after some time. "That's, uh, that's very interesting."

Wario took a swig of cherry soda as he fixed Bomberman with an odd stare. "What's your problem?" he asked. "Jealous that the kid likes me better?"

"Hrmm! You would say that!" grumbled Bomberman. "As if you didn't try to invade Planet Bomber!"

Wario's face went blank. "What?"

"Oh, don't pretend like you don't know!" retorted Bomberman. "You discovered a portal to my world and tried to plunder it for all it was worth!"

"…Hmm." The gears were slowly turning in Wario's head. "Oh, yeah! Now I remember! It was the same type of deal with Yoshi and those girls from Popples…"

"Well?" said Bomberman, tapping his foot. "Are you going to explain yourself or what?"

Wario shrugged. "Eh, it was a contractual obligation. Lemme tell ya, the nineties were a wild time for everyone…"

"And you didn't have any ulterior motives for helping Starfy?!" Bomberman was nearly at the end of his wits.

"They were trying to clean up Wario's image. Make me less of a bad guy and more one of those anti-heroes, eh? What can I say? I'm a complicated guy." As Wario was about to take another bite of dip, an up-tempo pop song began to play from the speakers. "Ooh, this is my jam! Watch out!" He abandoned his snacks and picked up a microphone, ready to croon to lyrics he only knew halfway.

"I…" Bomberman's eye twitched involuntarily. "But—you—seriously? That's it? Contractual obligations?!" Suddenly, he felt the urge to take out a Power Bomb and watch him go up in smoke.

As Bomberman huffed and puffed, Takamaru gently pulled him aside. "I believe you said something about 'no negative vibes allowed'?"

The robot sighed. "Yeah, I guess…" As he surveyed the rec room, most of his anger was already starting to melt away. Baito was clearly enjoying his role as disc jockey, Marie had drifted back to her seat on the couch, and even Waluigi seemed like he wasn't miserable and grouchy for once! He had nothing to worry about after all!

As the last strains of "That's Paradise" faded out, Bomberman stood up straight and tapped on a glass for attention. "Excuse me! Hello! We've got a great surprise tonight!"

"A surprise?" repeated Starfy. "I like surprises!"

"Well, then," chuckled Bomberman, "you're gonna love this one! Put your hands together for the comedy stylings of our very own Sukapon!"

Applause filled the room as the pink, limbless robot shuffled to the makeshift stage at the front. He appeared very nervous, adjusting his tie and mopping at his brow. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "Howdy, everyone! How're we doin' tonight?"

"Hi, Mister Sukapon!" called Starfy from the crowd.

"Thank you, you're too kind," responded Sukapon. "Boy, that Chef Kawasaki, huh? Let's hear it for him." Some scattered applause went through the room. "Yeah, that's right. I heard he's teaming up with the folks at the Pokémon Day Care for a new low fat Pokémon… Butterfree!"

There was a long silence that lasted only a couple of seconds, but to a comedian like Sukapon, it may as well have lasted for hours. "Bu… butter free…" he repeated weakly.

At last, Starfy laughed, a genuine high-pitched laugh that only a child could produce. "Ahahaha! Butter free!" he said, clapping his hands.

Sukapon smiled. Okay, he made a kid laugh. Good start, good start! "And speaking of Pokémon," he continued, "just today, Mega Man was in a tough spot in his bout with Roy. Yeah, high damage 'n everything. And to make matters worse, Roy threw a Poké Ball with that red bug Pokémon in it!"

"Scizor!" called Starfy.

"But you know, he ended up alright. Yeah, that bug didn't even touch him. 'Cause y'know, rock beats Scizor."

More laughs, this time from Starfy, Bomberman, and Callie. Waluigi, however, was much less amused. "Booo!" he heckled. "Get better material!"

Better material, eh? Sukapon was in the zone now. "Come to think of it, couple weeks ago, we celebrated Dr. Emon's birthday. Oh, you know, nothing too fancy, just a simple party with a simple cake. I can still remember the look on his face as I handed him his fiftieth birthday card." Sukapon sighed wistfully. "He looks at me, single tear down his cheek, and you know what he says to me?"

Everyone leaned in.

"He looks at me, he looks at his fiftieth birthday card, and he says, 'Oh, Sukapon… you only had to give me one!'"

This time, there was a much stronger reaction, with Marie snorting into her drink while Wario cackled raucously. Sukapon paused to wait for the laughter to die down, then cleared his throat. "Actually, another thing. A couple days ago, a sandwich walked into a bar, and the bartender said, 'Sorry, we don't serve food in here.'"

The audience was silent. A cricket could be heard chirping from a corner.

Sukapon wiped at his forehead. "Gosh, is it solipsistic in here or is it just me?"

One person laughed. To everyone's mild surprise, Waluigi was doubled over in his chair, crowing with his signature nasal laughter. Indeed, it was the first time anyone had seen him properly enjoy himself.

Once he had calmed down, he glanced around at everyone staring at him. Knuckles in particular was looking at him as though he'd grown a second head. "What? It's a joke about solipsism! You don't know? The philosophical idea that only the self is guaranteed to exist! Thus, 'is it solipsistic or is it just me'!"

The room was dead quiet. Even the cricket had stopped.

"Wehh," muttered Waluigi with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I wouldn't expect you losers to understand, anyways."

"Hey, what's the difference between Waluigi and an I-block?" said Sukapon. "One is tall, skinny, and an underestimated part of this establishment, with a colorful personality to match… and the other is Waluigi!"

The entire room erupted into unrestrained boisterous laughter, with Marie spitting her drink all over Callie, Takamaru nearly falling out of his chair, and Knuckles pounding the floor with his fists, making the whole room shake. Waluigi was most unamused, crossing his arms and gritting his teeth. To his dismay, he found that Wario of all people was laughing the loudest of all! "Hey! What are you laughing at?!" he asked of his yellow-clad companion.

"He got you!" chortled Wario, wiping a tear from his eye. "He completely got you!"

Sukapon grinned as he took in the mirth. "Anyways, folks, you know the—"

"What's going on here?"

Everyone in the room turned to face the source of the voice. A cat, standing on two legs and wearing a yellow bandana was standing in the doorway.

"Umm… hello," waved Bomberman awkwardly. "You here for the Bomb Bash Bonanza?"

The cat sneered. "Is that what it's called?" He looked disdainfully around the room. "So what is this, some kind of pity party?"

Bomberman suddenly felt a horrible weight in the pit of his stomach. Oh, no. Not again, he thought.

"Uhhhh… no," said Knuckles hesitantly, as though he knew that the cat would be trouble. "Bomberman put this together so that we could all—"

"So you could all what?" said the cat. "Get together and feel bad for yourselves?" He snatched a plastic cup off the table and scooped up a large helping of chips with it. "Because honestly, I don't blame you guys."

The previously merry mood had disappeared, leaving a tense air in its wake. Waluigi slowly stood up, scowl deepening. Off to the side, Bomberman prayed he wouldn't do anything stupid. "What do you mean by that?" asked the wiry man.

"Isn't it obvious?" smirked the cat, scooping up some dip with his snack. "You guys're the Assist Trophies. You're the Z-listers of this whole thing." He took a bite of his chip, then used that same chip to go for another dollop of dip. "Unlike me, of course."

Waluigi glowered down at the cat, recognizing him from earlier that week. "Oh, really?" he snarled.

Already, the tension was running high, and Bomberman knew it. As Waluigi began to step closer, Bomberman quickly dashed in between them to keep them separate. "Wow, that's really interesting!" he interrupted in an attempt to defuse the situation. "Anyways, you're welcome to stay and—"

But to his surprise, the cat shoved the robot aside, sending him toppling to the floor. "Stay out of this, has-been. This is between me and the beanpole."

At this, Knuckles stood up. "What's your deal?!" he asked fiercely. "Who even are you, anyways?"

"Oh? You don't recognize me?" sneered the cat. "What, have you been living under a rock or something? Name's Morgana. But I wouldn't expect people like you to know, anyways. It's okay. I'm clearly out of your league."

Not even three minutes, and he was already challenging Waluigi for the title of most repulsive person in the room! Morgana went on. "I mean, let's be reasonable here. Our adventure is famous and super influential. People have been saying it's one of the greatest RPGs of our time. Hell, look at how we get treated here. A new stage, a bunch of music—they had the band record three different victory fanfares, y'know!—and even a bunch of costumes for those Mii guys! Yep, we sure got the VIP treatment! And you guys…" His disparaging gaze passed from the crowd to the limbless robot at the front of the room. "Well, they call you guys rejects for a reason."

Bomberman sat up, glaring at the cat. "I'm gonna have to ask you to leave," he said slowly and carefully.

"Yeah, the truth hurts, doesn't it, has-been?" said Morgana, rounding on Bomberman. "You're one of the oldest people here, right? Well, old-timer, let's be real here: there's a good reason they had you on as just an Assist Trophy. You just don't have the status, like I do. You might've had some decent stuff like, twenty years ago, but have you really done anything important since then? I know you don't want to admit it, but—"

"You're wrong."

It was Baito, stepping out from behind his laptop. There was an uncharacteristically fiery look in his eyes. Morgana peered at the rabbit for a moment. "What did you say?" asked the cat.

"I said, you're wrong," repeated Baito. "About Bomberman, and about everyone here. He's just as much a superstar as Mario or Link."

Morgana was still unimpressed. "Oh, so now the rabbit with the microtransactions is gonna preach to me. That wasn't even a real game!"

Baito was undeterred. "Maybe… but all the same, they still chose me to be an assistant for the fighters. I may not be a real Smasher, but I still have a place here!"

Morgana gave him a sardonic stare. "God, that was cheesy."

"But it's the truth." Bomberman now stood up, frowning at the cat before him. "For starters, lemme correct you by saying yes, I have been on a recent adventure. I had to save the galaxy from the Buggler Army—"

"A one-off revival," countered Morgana.

"And you know what? People loved it!" continued Bomberman. "And, sure, I would've loved to become a Smasher, but being an assistant is great, too! 'Cause I'm still here! I'm still a part of all this! This is more than just a tournament starring a bunch of heroes from all over, this is… this is a celebration of legends. And if I'm here—if we're here," he said, gesturing to everyone in the room, "what does that make us?"

"Sorely mistaken," muttered Morgana with a roll of his eyes.

"No!" came a small voice. Starfy waddled out of the crowd, a determined frown on his face. He marched up to face Morgana directly. "It means we're all superstars, too!"

"Starfy's right," said Knuckles, coolly striding up to face the cat. "We might not have leading roles, but we are still an important part of this. Everyone contributes to make this place what it is."

Takamaru walked up beside the echidna. "And if you think you can come in here and tell us that we are somehow less deserving than anyone else, you are sorely mistaken."

Starfy nodded. "Everyone here is a superstar! Like Mr. Sukapon!" A cheer went through the crowd as Sukapon bashfully adjusted his tie and waved.

"Mr. Baito!" Another cheer sounded as Baito posed proudly, clapping his ears together.

"Knuckles!" The echidna grinned and flexed his arms, making shadowboxing movements.

"Mr. Waluigi!" called Starfy. The man in question stepped forward, ready to absorb the praise that he so rightfully deserved.

Exactly three people cheered, namely Starfy, Callie and Wario. Waluigi huffed, clearly expecting more. "Hey, what gives?"

Morgana simply scoffed. "Well, if you ask me, you're all idiots for thinking you're actually important."

Starfy blinked. "But we didn't ask," he said innocently.

Wario, who had been quietly observing these events from the side, burst into laughter. "Wahahaha! He's startin' to take after me!" There was some scattered laughter.

Morgana bristled. "Y-yeah, well… I'm the one that brought in the hype! At least I got picked because I have what it takes!"

"…You didn't," said Knuckles. "You're just part of that kid's Final Smash, aren't you?"

Morgana snarled at the echidna. "Better than being an Assist Trophy from some washed-out series that was never—"

Morgana was quickly interrupted by Knuckles' fist colliding with his face at high speeds, faster than anyone could react. He whizzed through the air and out of the room, nearly getting embedded into the wall outside.

Knuckles slammed the door shut. "Serves him right." There was now a profound, somewhat disconcerting silence.

"Well, anyways…" Baito slipped back behind the laptop and pressed a few keys on the keyboard. Music began to fill the air.

Take off at the speed of sound,

Bright lights, colors all around,

I'm running wild, living fast and free,

Got no regrets inside of me…

Bomberman observed the partygoers, laughing and making merry with each other. A feeling of great pride welled up deep in his chest. Look at everyone getting along so well! Even Waluigi seemed to be enjoying himself, laughing as Wario spilled punch on himself! Satisfied, he plopped down on the couch next to Marie.

"...It was a nice speech," said Marie after a pause.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, thanks." Bomberman kicked his feet over the cushion.

"It really was," said Takamaru from behind the two. He sat down on the armrest, causing the couch under the newfound weight. "Truly inspiring. I'll admit that I didn't consider myself to be legendary at all, but after that…" He stared off into space. "It makes me want to fight ever further, if that makes sense."

Marie nodded. "That cat guy was a jerk. I know he said most of that stuff was cheesy, but it came from the heart. I can tell." She glanced at Callie, who was singing lyrics she only somewhat knew with Starfy. "Kinda refreshing, actually."

Bomberman smiled. "See, that's what I'm aiming for! I'm glad people are feeling a little better about this whole thing. And you know what? Next time we get summoned, we'll show 'em what we can really do! We'll blow them out of the water!"

Nobody laughed.

Bomberman rubbed the back of his head. "O-or not…"

Marie pinched the bridge of her nose. "Yeah, maybe leave the jokes to Sukapon."

The party went on, the assistants reveling into the wee hours of the morning.

Chapter Text

"Good morning, assistants! Rise and shine!" came the voice of Dr. Wright.

Slowly, the assistants dragged themselves out of their beds and plodded into the lounge. The day before had been a marathon of matches, riddled with an assortment of bizarre rules and an oddly high frequency of items. The Assist Trophy in particular was one of the more common items, and for reasons no one could quite explain, when it appeared in a match, the fighters seemed drawn to it like kittens to a fresh ball of yarn. Needless to say, the assistants were positively drained.

"Ahh, jeez," grunted Knuckles, scratching at his cheek. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I really hope I don't get summoned today. Last night had me exhausted!"

"Speak for yourself," replied Guile, combing his flattop hair. "Getting summoned provides both a hands-on experience of a battle and excellent exercise."

"Exercise?" countered Knuckles. "All you do is sit in one spot and use that backflip kick thing!"

"It's called a Flash Kick, and it's still good exercise!" retorted Guile. His eyebrows were furrowed, but he was clearly in good humor. "You, of all people, could do with a little more muscle."

"Hey, come on, now!" grinned Knuckles. "You're a human and I'm an echidna. This is just how we're built!"

"Knuckles!" called Dr. Wright. "I have an important job for you."

"Huh? An important job, huh?" The echidna loped up to the tall-haired man. "Whatcha need?"

"You and…" Dr. Wright tapped his clipboard. "…two others will be assisting the caretakers in the Pokémon Day Care."

On cue, Tiki appeared in a flash of light and smoke, making Knuckles jump and clear the air in front of his face, coughing as he did so. Dr. Wright, on the other hand, was less impressed, not even flinching or looking up from his clipboard. "Yes, thank you for the theatrics, Tiki."

Knuckles, still a bit thrown from said theatrics, waved awkwardly at her. "Yo," he muttered.

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry, did I startle you?" asked Tiki.

"Pfft. Me? Startled? Well, thank you for the concern, but I don't get startled easily," said Knuckles, puffing out his chest. "Now, let's get going and feed some Pokémon!"

"Just a minute," said Dr. Wright before Knuckles could even take a step. "I said you would be assisted by two other people. The second has yet to arrive."

"Well, don't keep us in suspense." said Tiki. "Who is it?"

"Oh, I think you'll know who it is very soon," said Dr. Wright cryptically.

"…It's not that Goroh guy, is it?" asked Knuckles tentatively. "'Cause honestly, that guy just feels like a total sleazebag. Then again, I'd rather have him around than that Dr. Wily guy, 'cause he's cut from the same cloth as Eggman if you ask me—"

"Waaah!"

"Oh, of course."

Waluigi, scowl as unpleasant as ever, stomped nearer. He grimaced down at the echidna. "You're my assistant, eh? Wehh. They always stick me with-a the losers. Welp!" He snapped his fingers and marched forward. "Let's get-a moving, lackeys!" He turned and strode out of the room, head held haughtily high.

Tiki gave Dr. Wright an unamused frown. "You did this on purpose, didn't you?"

Dr. Wright simply shrugged, but Tiki noticed an odd glimmer in his eye as he adjusted his glasses. "Call it an unhappy accident. If nothing else, I trust you and Knuckles to put up with him for this. Well, have fun!"

"Pfft. 'Have fun', he says," grumbled Knuckles. "Alright, let's get this over with." He and Tiki followed the lanky man out the door and down the hallway.

Once they were out of earshot, Dr. Wright sighed to himself. "Finally. He's out of my hair for at least a few hours."

And so, Dr. Wright sat in a nearby chair, looking forward to enjoying a Waluigi-free morning.

The party of Waluigi, Tiki, and Knuckles as they trekked towards the Day Care resembled a parade, with Waluigi as the grand marshal, and the echidna bringing up the rear. If there was an audience present, they would have been inclined to think that it was a pretty tacky parade.

As they walked, a small, yellow mouse-like creature popped out from behind a corner and walked towards them. Tiki immediately recognized it as the Pokémon Pichu. "Hello, Pichu!" she said, waving at it.

Pichu paused, its ears twitching. When it made eye contact with the manakete, it smiled and offered a friendly wave of its own.

The moment Waluigi was close enough, he stuck out one of his long legs to kick the Pokémon, sending it flying with a pitiful squeal that sounded much like a deflating balloon.

Knuckles was appalled. "Dude, what the heck?!"

"Waaah!" squawked Waluigi. "They invited that dumb mouse over Waluigi! Cheater…"

An irate Knuckles moved in to slug him, but Tiki stopped him. "Not now," she whispered. "You and I both know that both Master Hand and Dr. Wright would have your head if you started anything this early."

Defeated, Knuckles could only cross his arms and huff. "Another classic Waluigi dirtbag moment. What a surprise," he grumbled.

"Bold words from the animal that eats worms," shot Waluigi over his shoulder.

Tiki rolled her eyes as Knuckles flared his nostrils. "I take it you two are familiar with each other," said Tiki.

"Unfortunately," confirmed Knuckles. "I met him at the Olympics, with Mario and the rest of his friends. He is quite possibly the most annoying person I have ever met. Sometimes I feel like going up to Mario and asking, 'How are you able to put up with him for so long?'"

"How indeed," murmured Tiki. "At any rate, we're here."

The entrance to the Day Care was simple but distinct, with an image of Pikachu balancing on a Poké Ball above the glass doors. A young woman with pink hair was standing at the entrance, laptop by her side. "Good morning!" she greeted. "Welcome to the Pokémon Day Care!"

"Good morning!" replied Tiki in turn. "We're here to tend to the Pokémon today!"

The pink-haired woman smiled. "Okay! Before you go in, take these!" She crouched down behind her desk and reemerged with three futuristic-looking devices, which she handed to the three. Seeing the confusion on their faces, she explained, "This is a Pokédex. It will allow you to analyze each Pokémon to see what kind of care it might need." She poked at her keyboard for a few moments, and a small chime rang out. The glass doors slid open. "There you go! Have a great time!"

The Day Care was a large field that stretched out far into the distance, surrounded by a fence. It was very, very wide and very, very green. There was a mid-sized lake further in and to the side, its waters still and unmoving. Pokémon ran and frolicked on the ground and flew above their heads. One such creature, a small brown mammal, hopped up to the trio and chirped as if to say hello.

Tiki's calm and graceful demeanor immediately melted away at the sight of the creature. She picked it up and began to stroke its soft fur. "Ohhh, look at it!" she squealed. "It's so precious!"

Knuckles swiped through his Pokédex. Apparently, this Pokémon was called an Eevee, and its genetic makeup allowed it access to many evolutions. The echidna cracked a grin as he watched Tiki play with it. It was, in fact, quite precious.

"Yeah, Eevee's a pretty popular one, even back home," came an unfamiliar voice.

The trio turned to face the speaker. Standing in front of them were two humans, a man and a woman, that looked to be in their early twenties. They were dressed very similarly, both wearing identical red aprons and bandanas on their heads. The woman waved at them. "Hi. You must be today's assistants, right?"

"Oh, yes." said Tiki, waving at them. The Eevee leapt out of her arms and trotted towards the woman. "My name is Tiki, and these are Knuckles and Waluigi."

"Okay!" The woman seemed more put off with Waluigi's countenance than the manakete and echidna. She extended her hand, which Tiki took. "My name is Lydia. I'm a Pokémon breeder from Hoenn. Nice to meet you!"

"And nice to meet you, as well," responded Tiki. Behind them, the man introduced himself as Myles, also from Hoenn.

Once introductions had ended, Lydia stood up a little straighter. "Okay," she began, "your job is pretty easy, actually. We've already given the Pokémon their breakfast, so you guys get to help with the fun part!" She produced a set of three aprons, identical to the one she and Myles wore. "You guys get to help with check-ins!"

"Check-ins?" repeated Waluigi. "What, are we doctors now?"

"No, no, it's not like that," said Myles. "Basically, you just walk up to them to check in on them. Y'know, ask them how they're doing and stuff. Pokémon need socialization outside of a battle context, too!"

"So we're just playing with them?" asked Knuckles.

"Pretty much, yeah!" nodded Lydia. "Here, lemme show you. Follow me." She and the others walked over to another pen where another Pokémon was dozing. This one had a pale yellow coat, and large tufts of orange fur in its ears. When the group came closer, it hopped up and darted towards them, ears twitching.

"Hel-looo!" cooed Lydia, beckoning the Pokémon to come closer. It did so, yipping excitedly, rubbing its head against her chin.

"Oh, I think I recognize this one!" said Tiki. "This one is Fennekin, right?"

Lydia nodded in confirmation. "It's a starter Pokémon from the Kalos region," she explained, scratching the Fennekin behind its ears. "It can vent hot air from its ears." She lifted the creature to her face. "Gosh, you make me wanna move to Kalos, you're so cute! Yes, you are! Yes, you are!"

The Fennekin purred and pawed at her face. Out of the corner of his eye, Knuckles could see Tiki practically melting at the sight.

Lydia stood up, taking out a Pokédex of her own to scan the Pokémon. "It doesn't look like Fennekin is in need of anything right now, so I think we can leave it alone for now." She put her Pokédex away. "Come on and we'll show you the others!"

After placing Fennekin back in its pen, Lydia and Myles guided the trio around the Day Care, introducing them to the other Pokémon as they toured. Some of the creatures were friendlier than others; while the bird Pokémon Fletchling flew over and landed on Tiki's head with a greeting chirp, Abra was much less outgoing, teleporting away the moment the group approached in spite of their best efforts.

"Oh, way to go, Waluigi," said Knuckles. "You scared it off."

"Me?!" snapped Waluigi. "I was as quiet as a mouse! If anything, it was you stomping around that scared it away!"

"Hey, you know, this is normal," said Lydia. "Abra are just shy by nature. They're psychic types; they can read minds and teleport away from danger."

"Ohh, I see now," said Tiki. "It read Waluigi's mind and decided it didn't want anything to do with him."

Waluigi rounded on the manakete. But to Waluigi's dismay, Lydia and Myles nodded in agreement. "Most likely, it read someone's mind and deemed them a threat," suggested Lydia, glancing sideways at the lanky man.

"Waahh?! Are you saying I'm a threat?" asked Waluigi.

"Well, not to me," replied Tiki.

"Maybe to Abra," chimed in Knuckles.

"I mean, you are pretty… off-putting," said Myles in a gentle tone.

"Not to mention annoying, from what I've heard," added Lydia.

"And abrasive," put in Tiki.

"Not to mention stuck-up," chimed Knuckles.

"And rude—"

"A little pompous, too—"

"Incredibly callous—"

"Alright, I get it!" squawked Waluigi. "Pearls before swine…"

For the next fifteen minutes, the rest of the Day Care excursion went off without a hitch. However, as they were tending to a green Pokémon with red flowers on its head, a beeping sound rang from Lydia's pocket. She took out a futuristic-looking device, pushed a button on it, and began to speak into it.

"Hello? …Yeah, I'm at the Day Care. Whaddya need? …Oh, no! The poor thing! …Yeah, we'll be right over! …Okay, bye." She closed the device and rushed over to Myles to relay the new information. From where Knuckles was standing, he could clearly see Myles frown.

"Okay, guys, we got bad news," said Lydia, "You know little Pichu, the fighter? Apparently, it got injured when it just… fell out of nowhere and landed in a crate of explosives! We have to go and make sure it's okay!"

Both Tiki and Knuckles looked horrified, but their alarm quickly turned into cold anger as they put two and two together. "I can only wonder how that happened…" grumbled the manakete.

"Yeah, from what Lydia said, the little guy's in real bad shape," said Myles, not picking up on the mood. He plucked out a Poké Ball from his apron and threw it. When it opened, a bizarre, sauropod-like creature with leaves on its back burst forth with a roar. Both caretakers hopped on the creature's back. "You three can deal with the rest of the Pokémon, right?" said Lydia.

"Yes, of course," replied Tiki. "I'm certain we can take care of them in your stead." Behind her, Knuckles nodded in concurrence.

Lydia hesitated. "…I know you guys are capable, but I still gotta warn you. Some of the Pokémon here are pretty temperamental. They're wild creatures. Please," she said, pointedly glancing at Waluigi, "just don't be stupid." And with that final warning, the flying sauropod took off, creating a gust of wind that nearly knocked some of the smaller Pokémon over.

Once Lydia and Myles were out of sight, Knuckles immediately rounded on Waluigi. "Are you proud of yourself?" he snarled.

Waluigi simply crossed his arms. "That little so-and-so had it coming. Thinks it can outshine Waluigi, eh? Waaah…"

Knuckles gave Tiki a look that was an equal blend of angry, exasperated and pleading. "Can I punch him? Like, just once?"

Tiki looked just as furious as the echidna, but kept her voice firm, yet calm. "No," she said simply.

"Why not?!" insisted Knuckles. "Just one little hit! He's asking for it!"

"Not right now."

"One teeny, tiny little punch, right in his jaw, where he needs it. Hard enough to shut him up, but soft enough so he doesn't get hurt too much—"

Tiki sighed. "As much as I'd like to kick his teeth in," she whispered, "now isn't the time. Especially not in front of the Pokémon."

Knuckles paused, then responded with an angry kick at the ground, scattering dirt and pebbles. "Fine. Whatever." He turned to face the lanky man. "Okay, here's the plan. Waluigi, you go and deal with those Pokémon over there, while Tiki and I take on this side. Sound fair?"

"Fine," sneered Waluigi. "I don't need you two getting in my way, anyhow." He stomped off, Pokédex in hand. Knuckles did the same, turning and walking in the opposite direction.

Finally, some peace, thought the echidna. The less nuisances I have to put up with, the better.

As if reading his mind, Tiki spoke up. "Do you really think it's a good idea, leaving Waluigi alone with the Pokémon?" she asked.

"They're not helpless, Tiki," replied Knuckles with a wave of his hand. "The Pokémon are more than capable of defending themselves. I mean, they've got ones like, uh, alien-looking starfish and fire lions and ghost chandeliers. Who knows, back in their world, they've probably got, like, big fleas that know karate! They'll be fine."

Tiki pursed her lips. "Let me rephrase that. I didn't mean he'd try to hurt them. I meant that he might be viciously attacked by superpowered wild animals."

Knuckles stopped in his tracks. "Oh." He thought about this for a moment, then shrugged. "Eh, he'll probably be fine. He's taken worse hits, and if anything too crazy happens, I can probably get there fast enough. And speaking of superpowered wild animals!" He walked up to a pen and carefully stepped over the fence. "Alright, little guys, who's first?"

A brown Pokémon with a spiky green shell on its back stepped forward. Knuckles took out his Pokédex and pointed it at the creature.

Chespin, the Spiny Nut Pokémon. This Grass-type Pokémon's shell can protect it from powerful attacks. The quills on its head are usually soft, but can be stiffened for attack as well.

It stared up at him with inquisitive eyes. Knuckles couldn't help but smile at just how cute it was. He knelt down to stroke its head, and it leaned into the touch, chirruping softly as it rubbed its head into the echidna's palm.

Knuckles nearly squealed in delight, but quickly caught himself before any sound came out. Heaven forbid Waluigi or Tiki should hear that, or worse, if Sonic should have stopped by! He had a reputation to uphold, and that hedgehog would never let him hear the end of it! Why, he'd probably—

Splash!

"Ackpth!"

Knuckles' thoughts were interrupted by a sudden blast of water at the back of his head, completely soaking him. He yelped and spluttered in surprise, nearly toppling over and smacking into the grass. Chespin squeaked and ran away.

"Bwuh—who—?!" He whirled around to see Tiki, looking like she was trying her hardest not to laugh. In her arms was a small otter holding a seashell. Based on the look the otter was giving him, it was clear to Knuckles who the culprit was.

"Sorry, Knuckles," said Tiki, still stifling a giggle. "I tried to stop it. But just look at it!" she squealed, letting the otter flop out of her arms and toddle up to the echidna. "Look at how cute it is!"

Knuckles had to admit, the otter was pretty cute, staring at him with those eyes. It was very difficult for him to stay annoyed with it for too long. "Alright," he said with a sigh. "I guess I can—"

His words were quickly interrupted by something, or someone tugging at his tail. It was Chespin, slightly soggy and gazing up at the echidna with pleading eyes. It had clearly been enjoying Knuckles' attention before the otter had sprayed it.

"Aw, look! I think it likes you!" giggled Tiki.

Knuckles sighed good-naturedly as he picked up Chespin. It chattered with delight as it climbed up onto his shoulder. "Which one is that?" he asked.

"This little guy is called Oshawott," replied Tiki, scratching the Pokémon behind its ears. "It's from the Unova region. The seashell it carries is called a scalchop, which it uses to break open berries. Look at how precious it is!" She cuddled it much like a child would cuddle a teddy bear. Oshawott made no protest towards the gesture.

Knuckles gave a small laugh. "Yeah, these guys are just like the Chao back home," he agreed.

Tiki blinked. "Chao…? What is a 'Chao'?"

"Huh? Oh!" Knuckles' eyes widened in realization. Of course she wouldn't know what a Chao was! "A Chao! They're like these, uh…" He snapped his fingers, trying to find the right words. "Little blue… sprite things from my world. They're kinda like the Pokémon here, except not… really. There were these places, they called 'em Chao Gardens, where you could raise them. You gotta take care of 'em so that they can evolve. When that happens, they go into these cocoons, and they evolve into either dark, hero or neutral Chao. Umm… I feel like Tails or Amy would be better at explaining it."

"No, no, that's fine! I think I get it now!" said Tiki encouragingly. She got up. "From what I can tell, these two only needed proper social interaction. I think we can move on now."

As the two assistants stepped out of the pen, a familiar nasal voice sounded in the distance. Tiki and Knuckles paused, exchanged a glance, and sighed as they rushed towards the source, knowing full well what was probably going on.

"Waaah! Come on, you stupid bug!"

Waluigi tapped his foot as he loomed over the Pokémon. A small insect with a cloak of white fur stared impassively back up at him.

Tiki and Knuckles arrived at the scene. A quick scan with the former's Pokédex told them that Waluigi was taking care of Spewpa, a bug type Pokémon. "Having trouble, are you?" asked the manakete.

"Waaah! I don't need your help!" replied the lanky man. "All it is is just taking care of them, right? That's what I'm doing!" He reached down to pet Spewpa, but it shuffled away.

"Have you tried being a bit… gentler?" asked Tiki without any sarcasm.

"Wehhh…" Waluigi crouched down to Spewpa so as to be at eye level. "Nice bug thing…" he muttered.

Poof!

A cloud of thick, pale yellow powder erupted from the Pokémon, enveloping Waluigi's face. He coughed and hacked as he fell over backward, while Knuckles and Tiki stepped back to stay out of the blast range.

"Whoa!" cried Knuckles. Beside him, Tiki cleared the air in front of her. "What was that?!"

"That was—ahem!—that was a Stun Spore attack," clarified Tiki. "Spewpa will use that when they feel threatened." She gave the lanky man a pointed look.

Waluigi slowly got up. "Oh, sure, blame Waluigi because this… thing tried to attack me for no reason!" He glared at Spewpa, which continued to stare blankly at him.

Tiki rolled her eyes. "Obviously, you have a lot to learn about dealing with Pokémon." Behind her, Knuckles nodded. "Looks like we'll have to stick by you so you get it right," she continued.

Knuckles stopped nodding. "What?"

Waluigi scowled and folded his arms. "Oh, great. Now I've gotta babysit Little Miss Anime and some red mutt."

"Excuse me? Red mutt?!" growled Knuckles. He moved in closer, fists raised, but Tiki stopped him.

"No one is babysitting anyone," clarified Tiki. "This is a team effort. Am I clear? Knuckles? Waluigi?" She glanced between the two.

"Hmph! Since when do you play mediator?" retorted Waluigi.

"I wouldn't have to play mediator if some people were willing to cooperate for once," Tiki shot back. "Now, are we going to do this as a team or what?" She stepped back so that she, Knuckles, and Waluigi were arranged in a circle surrounding Spewpa, and put her hand in the middle.

After a few seconds, Knuckles did the same, placing his gloved hand over Tiki's. "I'm willing to play ball if you are," he said.

Only Waluigi remained. He stood there for a long time, scowling and crossing his arms. "C'mon, Wally, just suck it up already," said Knuckles. Spewpa stared vacantly up at the lanky man.

At last, Waluigi relented. "Fine," he muttered, putting his hand in the middle.

"Good," said Tiki, withdrawing her hand. "Now, which Pokémon are we going for next?"

"Um…" Knuckles swiped through his Pokédex. "What about this one? 'Gogoat'? Let's look for that one."

The trio set out, tending to the other Pokémon they encountered along the way. They briefly spoke with a Pokémon called Dedenne, who warmed up to Tiki almost immediately. They observed Meowth, who simply lazed about in the sun. They approached Snorlax, who paid them no mind, as it was fast asleep.

At last, they found Gogoat, calmly grazing by itself in the middle of the field. It eyed the trio as they slowly approached it, but otherwise paid them no mind.

Tiki took out her Pokédex. "Apparently, this 'Gogoat' is a popular mount in its home world, and it can sense its rider's emotions through its horns." She tentatively stuck out her hand in offering. Gogoat trotted up to it and sniffed. After a moment, it allowed her to pet it, gently pressing its nose into her palm. The manakete giggled as she moved to pet its bushy, leafy mane. "You're a tranquil fellow, aren't you?"

Off to the side, Knuckles and Waluigi quietly observed the scene. The echidna side-eyed the lanky man, still wary that he might try something. Likewise, Waluigi grimaced down at Knuckles as though he were some kind of horrid bug.

Knuckles cleared his throat. "So," he began.

Waluigi's eyes narrowed. "So, what?" he replied.

"So…" Knuckles scratched his cheek. "Tiki said you can… you can ride Gogoat, where it's from."

"Wow. Nothing gets by you, does it?" Waluigi's lip curled.

"I'm just saying!" retorted Knuckles. His voice was clipped and tense. "With the way its horns're shaped, I figure it'd be kinda like riding a motorcycle."

An odd sort of smile played on Waluigi's features. "What would you know about riding a motorbike?"

"Hey, hey, I've ridden one once!" said Knuckles, going on the defensive. "I… I had to borrow Shadow's."

"Pffhaa!" guffawed the lanky man. "Of course you did!" He wiped a tear from his eye as Knuckles fumed. "Waah. It's probably for the best. A squirt like you, you couldn't handle a real bike."

"Excuse me?!" Now Knuckles was riled up! How dare he trash talk him like that?! He was saying he couldn't handle a motorbike? Yeah, 'cause Waluigi was such an accomplished biker! ...Okay, technically, he was, but still, how dare he?! Knuckles stared at the Gogoat, which was still being stroked by Tiki. Couldn't handle a real bike, eh? Well, he'd show him!

"Hey, Tiki, can I handle it for a second?" asked Knuckles.

Tiki looked up. "Oh, do you want to pet it, too?"

"Something like that."

Knuckles marched up to the Gogoat, who backed away a bit while regarding him closely. He extended his hand to its face as Tiki had earlier. It took a few steps forward and snuffled at his glove for a long time before it allowed the echidna to stroke its head and mane.

In one fluid motion, Knuckles stopped petting it and climbed up on the Gogoat's back. He gripped its horns as if they were handlebars. "Alright, let's go!" he declared.

No sooner did his hands grip its horns than it bucked him off, sending him flying a surprising distance into the lake. The resulting splash shot a tall pillar of water into the air, sending some of the smaller Pokémon fleeing.

"Knuckles!" cried Tiki. "Are you all right?" Behind her, Waluigi burst into hearty chortling at the echidna's misfortune.

Out popped Knuckles, sputtering and coughing up water as he dragged himself to the lake's shore. As he lay on the ground taking fresh air into his lungs, a fish Pokémon poked its head out of the water to see what all the commotion was about.

"What're you lookin' at?" wheezed Knuckles.

The fish simply shot him a wry look before diving back underwater. Knuckles stood up and shook himself dry, convulsing as he forced some extra droplets of water from his lungs.

Tiki came running up, with Waluigi moseying along behind. "Knuckles, are you okay?" asked the manakete, worry written all over her face.

"I'm—ge-haaa!" He coughed again, but no water came out. "I'm fine. I've been through worse."

"Waaa-hahahaha!" cackled Waluigi, slapping his knee. "You shoulda seen how far you went!"

"Not funny, Waluigi," scolded Tiki. "He could've gotten hurt!"

"I'm fine," maintained Knuckles. "Why'd it even throw me off, anyhow?"

Tiki paused. "Well, the Pokédex did say it can sense emotions through its horns… Did you touch its horns, Knuckles?"

"Yeah, it's sorta like riding a—" Knuckles stopped talking as his eyes narrowed. "What are you saying?"

Tiki took a deep breath. "…Knuckles, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but… you can be a little—"

"What she's saying," interrupted Waluigi, using Knuckles' head as an armrest, "is that you're too much of a hothead to ride it. It probably read your mind and decided that you were a threat."

"Oh, really?" growled Knuckles. "Now I'm the threat?"

"Yes, that's what I just said, knucklehead," said Waluigi dryly. "But luckily for you, Waluigi is here to teach you the fine art of animal care." He puffed out his chest and twirled his mustache to accentuate his point.

Both Tiki and Knuckles looked quite unimpressed. "Is that so?" asked Tiki.

"But of course!" declared Waluigi. "They don't call me the ace animal tamer for nothing!"

"No one calls you that."

Waluigi paid them no mind as he sauntered over to the gogoat. "Watch and learn, losers!" he declared.

The moment Waluigi moved to grip its horns, Gogoat charged the man, headbutting him and sending him sprawling onto the ground. It then huffed and trotted away.

Tiki burst into bright, hearty laughter, while Knuckles was bent double in mirth. Waluigi quickly stood up and dusted himself off in an effort to save face. "And that is what happens when you're not careful around such a dangerous creature!" he declared.

Neither Tiki nor Waluigi seemed convinced. "At any rate," said Tiki, "we really should be getting a move on."

After saying goodbye to the gogoat, the trio moved on to the next pen. The sun was a little higher in the sky now, and the Pokémon were becoming more active. Even Snorlax had rolled over in its dozing to face away from the rays of sunshine beaming down on it.

Once they reached the pen, an assortment of Pokémon raced up to the fence and pawed at the wooden rails. The assistants could see two foxes that looked almost identical save for their coloration, a bizarre-looking creature with a massive metal cross on its head, a blue squid with lights on its mantle, a lavender blob, a black and pink bear that stood on two legs, a strange entity that looked a lot like Pikachu, and a shadowy, otherworldly creature with white fog billowing from its head.

"Arf arf!"

...And a huge metal ball with razor-sharp teeth was also present, its chain trailing behind it as it barreled towards the fence at high speed.

"Holy—!"

Waluigi dove out of the way, with the Pokémon at the fence following suit. Tiki and Knuckles, however, vaulted over the fence and stood directly in its path. "Oh no, you don't!" bellowed Tiki as something began to glow in her hands.

There was a brilliant flash of light and a gust of wind as the Chain Chomp stopped in its tracks, mere inches from the fence. Slowly, it backed away and bowed its head.

Knuckles, who was fully prepared to punch the Chain Chomp if the situation called for it, let go of a breath he was holding. He turned to the manakete. "Nice job, Tiki, but how did you manage to stoooouhhhh—?!"

Knuckles's eyes grew wide and his jaw went slack as he processed exactly what he was looking at. Where the humanoid Tiki had once stood was now a massive dragon with glowing red eyes, covered in snow-white scales that caught the sunlight and reflected it outward, making her glow. It growled softly at the Pokémon, who all backed away slowly.

There was a brilliant flash of light, and Tiki in her more familiar form touched down lightly on the grass. Knuckles and Waluigi stood there, mouths agape.

"…Oh! I'm sorry! Did I startle you?" asked Tiki for the second time that day.

Knuckles' mouth opened, closed, and opened again, like a Goldeen gasping for air. "Wh—what was that?!" he managed at last.

"What do you mean, 'what was that'?" said Waluigi, getting up and dusting himself off. "She turned into a dragon. In case you haven't noticed, that's a thing she does. If anything, we should be asking what that Chain Chomp is doing here!"

The Chain Chomp, hearing its name, charged at Waluigi, but at a slower pace than earlier. The lanky man squawked in alarm, fell backwards, and put up his arms in a defensive position. But just before it made impact, it stopped a finger's length in front of him, just as it had when Tiki had stopped it.

Tentatively, gingerly, Waluigi opened his eyes. The Chain Chomp stared back, eyeing him in the way only it could. Then, without a sound, it leaned forward and gently plucked Waluigi's tennis racket out of his pocket, seizing it in its teeth. It promptly turned around and sped off, loudly barking—or was it laughing?—as it did so.

"W-waaah?!" The theft quickly snapped him out of his shock. "Hey! Give that back!" He scrambled to his feet and gave chase, hollering and crowing all the way.

As Waluigi tried in vain to retrieve his tennis racket, Tiki and Knuckles got to work tending to the other Pokémon. The two foxes walked up first, the one with reddish-brown fur moving towards Knuckles, while the white one chose Tiki as its caretaker.

Tiki gently scratched behind the fox's ears with one hand and scanned it with her Pokédex with the other. "This Pokémon is called a Vulpix, and it comes in two forms. Knuckles, yours is the Kantonian form, while this little cutie is the Alolan form!"

Knuckles nodded as he scratched his Vulpix. "So is it like, the way you treat makes it look different, or is it a regional thing?"

"Regional thing," affirmed Tiki, watching the Alolan Vulpix scurry off to play with the other Pokémon. "It's not just the color, either; the Kantonian Vulpix is fire type, while the Alolan Vulpix is ice type."

"Oh, really?" asked Knuckles, scooting over to read from Tiki's Pokédex.

Tiki nodded. "If you look closely, you can also see that the Kantonian Vulpix's head is a bit smaller than their Alolan relatives." With two fingers, Tiki zoomed in on the Pokédex's screen to compare both models. "By contrast, the Alolan Vulpix—apparently older people call it Keokeo—has a larger head and eyes."

Knuckles raised an eyebrow. "Huh! Never woulda noticed that." A thought suddenly came to him. "Hold up. This Alola place, it's a tropical island chain, right? So if it's in a tropical area, why is it ice type?"

"Hmmm…" Tiki scrolled down on her Pokédex. "Apparently, it adapted its biology to live on snowy mountains."

"Oh, yeah?" The echidna was fully intrigued now. "What else does that Pokédex say?"

As Knuckles and Tiki perused the database, Waluigi had finally managed to retrieve his tennis racket from the jaws of the Chain Chomp. It was a brave struggle, and the metallic beast had put up a good fight, but Waluigi managed to fool it by throwing a stick for it to chase. Now, with his mustache frayed and his clothes in tatters, he could finally get around to taking care of the Pokémon! …Provided they didn't maul him, of course.

He strode up to the first Pokémon he saw, an odd-looking creature that bore a close resemblance to Pikachu. Perfect, he thought to himself. One of Pikachu's weird cousins should be easy to handle.

Waluigi crouched down to meet its eyes. As he did, he noticed quite a few things about his new charge. What he thought was fur was actually some kind of fabric. And the alleged Pikachu's eyes were drawn on the cloth with crayons! And it's tail wasn't a tail at all! It was just an oddly shaped stick!

"Waah? What's going on here?" Waluigi took out his Pokédex to scan this mystery creature.

Mimikyu, the Disguise Pokémon. Mimikyu is a lonely Pokémon that wears a ragged cloth to protect itself from the sun. It models its disguise after Pikachu because of the popularity of Pikachu-themed merchandise, thinking that the disguise will make it popular as well. Its true form remains unknown.

Waluigi stared down at Mimikyu, which stared blankly back up at him. "So, you want to be popular, too, eh?" he asked in a quiet voice.

Mimikyu gave no response.

Waluigi sat down next to the Pokémon. "Yeah, I know what that's like," he mumbled, pulling his purple hat down over his eyes. "That Pikachu upstages everyone. It even upstages Waluigi. Lousy cheater…" The two sat in silence, watching the other Pokémon prance around the field.

"Weeh. Look at us," continued Waluigi, twirling his mustache. "Always sitting in the shadows of some other loser. Sometimes, I look at those Mario brothers, and that second-rate racer guy, and even Daisy, and I think to myself, 'That oughta be me up there, running around in the spotlight. All I've gotta do is wait.'" He crossed his arms and huffed. "I've been waiting for a good while now.

"But let me tell you," he continued. "All this waiting around hasn't done a thing! Time and time again I've been put on the backburner, because I'm 'not important' or 'too unoriginal'! How can they say that when they invite more and more of those sword-wielding nobodies every time?" He pulled his hat over his eyes again. "There is no justice in this world…"

Mimikyu said nothing. Instead, a long black limb stretched out from underneath the rag and patted Waluigi's knee in a consoling gesture.

The lanky man glanced down at Mimikyu, his gaze uncharacteristically sympathetic. "People like us—the secondary, ignored characters—gotta stick together, you know."

Back near the rest of the Pokémon, Knuckles and Tiki had finished looking through the Pokédex. Tiki seemed interested in one particular creature. "That Pokémon, the shadowy thing… what is that?"

Knuckles swiped through his Pokédex. "It says here it's called Darkrai." Both of them read the entry.

Darkrai, the Pitch-Black Pokémon. It is active during nights of the new moon. It chases intruders from its territory by lulling them to sleep and afflicting them with unending nightmares.

Knuckles shuddered. "Guhhh… Imagine being stuck in a nightmare forever. Just being trapped with your biggest fear…" He shook his head. "I can't imagine what that's like."

Tiki's face had suddenly gone very pale. "Y-yes, I suppose."

The change in demeanor did not go unnoticed. "Um… you okay?" asked the echidna.

"I'm…" Tiki paused and took a breath to gather her thoughts. "Have I ever told you about my childhood, Knuckles?"

Knuckles shook his head. Behind them, more Pokémon scurried around in the tall grass.

Tiki took another breath. "As you probably heard at orientation, I am a manakete belonging to the divine dragons. Many millennia ago, dragonkind faced extinction. Our only hope was to seal our true forms into these dragonstones—" She held up her own to show Knuckles— "and take on the forms of humans. Those of us that didn't… they lost their minds and deteriorated into madness. Degeneration, they called it."

"That's how you turned into that dragon earlier," Knuckles realized out loud.

Tiki nodded. "…Much of my youth was spent asleep," explained the manakete. "Before my mother died, she placed me into a deep sleep, fearing that should my power go unchecked, I would go mad and eventually degenerate." Knuckles opened his mouth as if to say something, but decided against it.

"During that time, I was cared for by two others of my kind: Gotoh and Ban-Ba—ah, Bantu. I would only ever awaken either to eat, or…" Tiki hesitated. "Or if I had a nightmare."

"Nightmares, huh…" Knuckles' gaze fell to the ground. "…What kind of nightmares?"

Tiki turned to look at the echidna, her face still and unreadable. "Hmmm?"

"O-Oh!" said Knuckles, slapping his forehead. "I-I'm sorry, that was… that was really invasive."

Tiki smiled. "Oh, not at all!" she reassured. Her face turned somber yet again as she stared at the grass. "Most of my nightmares had the same scenario. I would deteriorate and lose my sense of self. Then I would attack human villages and…"

The remainder of Tiki's description was left unsaid, but it hung in the air like a cold, cold fog. Tiki pointed at Darkrai, which was calmly observing them from a distance. "That Pokémon, Darkrai… it reminds me all too much of my youth spent in slumber. So forgive me if I'm a little unnerved." There was a long silence as they watched the Pokémon frolic amongst themselves.

"Hey, you know, that's fine," said Knuckles, eager to change the subject. "Let's… let's look at some of the other Pokémon. Like, uh… ooh! What about this one?"

Tiki scrolled through her Pokédex. "Oh, that one is called Genesect. It's an insect Pokémon that existed three hundred million years ago." Her brow furrowed. "Who is… Team Plasma?"

Knuckles tilted his head in confusion. "Team Plasma?" he repeated. "Lemme take a look." He and the manakete read the rest of the entry.

Genesect, the Paleozoic Pokémon. Over 300 million years ago, it was feared as the strongest of hunters. It has been modified by Team Plasma, who attached the cannon to its back.

Knuckles frowned as he read the last sentence. "Modified, eh? I dunno who this 'Team Plasma' is, but they're givin' me a bad vibe. This kinda stuff is right up Eggman's alley."

Tiki rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. "I take it you're not terribly fond of this 'Eggman' fellow, then?"

The echidna sighed deeply. "Oh, you don't know the half of it, Tiki. He's always trying to take over the world with his army of robots and create his 'Eggman Empire'."

"A cruel tyrant who seeks to conquer the world…" murmured Tiki, gazing into the distance. "I've been there before. Twice, actually."

Knuckles crossed his arms. "Yeah, but Eggman keeps coming back. He's always building some new death machine or trying to take control of an ancient monster… But luckily, I'm always around to save the day," he declared, thumping his chest. "And, I guess, Sonic helps too, when he can," he added.

Tiki giggled softly. "I imagine you're quite the hero in your world, then?"

Knuckles grinned. "You bet I am! I'm not the guardian of the Master Emerald for nothing! Me 'n' Tails 'n' Sonic, as long as we're around, Eggman doesn't stand a chance!"

Knuckles' gaze wandered around the field. In front of him, both Vulpixes were play-wrestling, with the Kantonian form pressing the advantage. To the left, Waluigi seemed to be conversing with Mimikyu, with the black and pink bear silently watching them from behind a tree. And to the right, the metallic creature was simply watching the scene with the squid.

"You must be a capable leader, then."

Knuckles blinked. "What?"

"I said, you must be a capable leader, then," repeated Tiki.

The echidna blinked again. He stared down at the ground. A sudden weight made itself known in his chest. "Yeah," he mumbled. "I guess."

As much as Knuckles tried to hide it, Tiki quickly caught on to the change in his tone. "…Are you alright, Knuckles?" she asked softly.

Knuckles had turned away. From what little Tiki could see of his face, he looked much older and… paler? No, haunted was a better word for it. She knew that look all too well. "Knuckles…" she said delicately. "Have you ever… been in war before?"

For a moment, Knuckles didn't respond. It was hard to read his face. At last, he sighed a deep, fatigued sigh as though he'd just left a harrowing battle. "Did I ever tell you about the time Eggman won?"

Tiki gripped the rock she sat on. "N-no."

Knuckles nodded gravely. "Eggman… beat Sonic once. In only six months, he took over almost all of the world. Ninety-nine percent, I think."

"Oh, gods," breathed Tiki. "How did you manage it?"

He took a deep breath. "It wasn't easy…"

And so, Knuckles told Tiki everything about the war that followed. He told her of Sonic's assumed death, of the assembly of the Resistance, of one particular soldier who was vital to the reclaiming of the planet, and of the discovery that not only was Sonic still alive, there was also another Sonic who had arrived from another dimension to help them. He turned to face the manakete now, with the grief-stricken, weary look of a leader who'd barely gotten out of an ambush alive. "A couple days later, I thought of a strategy that would give us an advantage…"

"Listen up!" declared the echidna to the room. "We just got word that Eggman's forces are undermanned at his headquarters in Metropolis!"

The chameleon stepped forward. "They're probably staging somewhere else as part of Eggman's plan." he guessed. "This could be our only chance to take the city."

Knuckles grinned. "Exactly! That's why we're focusing on a full frontal assault on Metropolis!" He took out a large sheet of paper and unrolled it on the table at the center of the room. It contained a map of the city, with markings and notes detailing when and where to strike. "I'm calling it, 'Operation Big Wave'!"

"Who cares what it's called?" asked a white hedgehog from the corner. "What's important is to have a well thought out strategy."

"I thought up this strategy in about a minute and a half," said Knuckles proudly. "We're going in hard and fast, and we're not gonna stop until Eggman's army is destroyed."

There were some murmurs among the group. Move in quickly with reckless abandon? A minute and a half? It definitely seemed like a risky venture.

"Sonic is busy fighting Shadow, but the rest of us can do this!" continued the echidna. "We've got the strength and the spirit to win. There's no finer group that I'd want to fight with."

"Ha! Great speech! " laughed a large green crocodile, shooting him a thumbs-up. "Let's give Eggman an old-fashioned beatdown!"

"They have more in sheer numbers," said a fox with two tails, "so the idea of a quick, focused attack isn't bad. We also have Sonic—I mean, the other Sonic—so I have no doubt we can do this! Also, if we can destroy the Phantom Ruby, we should be able to send the other Sonic home! …At least, I hope so." He awkwardly scratched behind his head. "This is all new territory for me."

Knuckles pounded his fists together. "Okay, let's head straight for Eggman's HQ! Time to save the world, people!"

A cheer went up among the Resistance. They picked up their weapons and hoisted them high. It was time to take back the planet!

"…So then what happened?" asked Tiki. "What happened after you took Metropolis?"

Knuckles' expression darkened. "Well, we arrived at the site, and just like I said, it was undermanned…"

"Alright! Time for Operation Big Wave!" said Knuckles as he watched the rookie take out a couple of robots on the monitor. "We'll surge forward and sweep the enemy away!"

He turned to face the pink hedgehog on his right. "How's Eagle Squad holding up?" he asked.

"Eagle Squad is doing fine," replied the hedgehog. "They've got Aero-Chasers and Buzz Bombers inbound, but other than that, nothing too serious."

"Perfect!" grinned Knuckles. "Just as planned. All we need to do now is keep up the pressure until they fold!" He pushed a button to his right. "Fox Squad, report! How's it looking!"

"This is Fox Squad," came a voice from the other end, slightly muffled by static. "We've got… way more Egg Pawns than we thought, but they shouldn't be too much trouble."

"Good," responded Knuckles. "Don't let up! Show no mercy!" He turned back to watch the rookie launch off a ramp and soar through the air. Okay, great, everything was going well so far! They were one step closer to taking back the—

"Commander! We've got trouble!"

Knuckles whirled around to face the speaker, a young bee wearing a pilot's helmet. His bright eyes were wide with fear, and he was pointing frantically at the screen. "Th-there was a guy, wearing a weird mask, and—Look!" He pointed at the monitor.

The rookie was still flying through the air, but a newcomer had joined them. A mysterious being wearing a silver mask had appeared right besides them, making them flinch.

Knuckles stared at the monitor, eyes wide. "What's going—is that—"

"Infinite!" barked an all-too-familiar voice, so loud and harsh even from their headquarters. "Activate the Phantom Ruby! Make them wish they'd never been born!"

The landscape, and reality as they knew it, suddenly warped and shifted before their very eyes. The entire world seemed to invert its colors as the rookie slowly flipped upside-down and began to somehow fall upward. Amidst the chaos, the stranger had abruptly disappeared.

Without thinking, Knuckles grabbed the closest radio and pushed a button on it. "Stay calm!" he ordered, trying to keep his voice steady. "What you're seeing isn't real!"

"It's no use!" yelped a soldier. Knuckles could hear cannon blasts and screaming in the background. "Our troops are scattering in the confusion!" There was a sudden, shrill scream from the radio, and then cold static.

Knuckles felt his stomach drop. He barely even caught what Silver was saying behind him, instead choosing to stare fixedly on the main monitor. In spite of what had just happened, the rookie was making their way through the city, shooting at robots as best they could. He noted, to his alarm, that the cityscape was now filled with bizarre, monstrous figures, tall and snakelike, all bearing the same mask that the stranger was wearing.

Without warning, that mysterious figure appeared once again to invert the gravity, sending the rookie flying into a building.

"No!"

Mercifully, the rookie was able to use their weapon to swing back and land on the building's side on their feet. Despite everything, they rushed ahead.

"This is Eagle Squad!" came a voice on Knuckles' left. "We're caught in enemy crossfire!"

"Snake Squad requesting reinforcements!" came another voice to Knuckles' right.

"This is Fox Squad!" said a third. "We can't hold out much more!"

"Eighty percent of our forces have been wiped out!" cried Amy. "And we've lost contact with the rest!"

"One flip of the Phantom Ruby switch and everything falls apart on us!" groaned Vector.

Knuckles barely registered the crocodile's words as he stared at the monitor. Eighty percent. Eighty percent of their forces, people he'd readily call his friends gone, wiped out by Eggman's newest lackey. "The rookie… is our only hope now," he stammered into the radio.

He and the rest of the Resistance watched numbly as the rookie blazed through the rest of the city, almost flinching as one of the giant figures rose a hand and swatted away a chunk of road that the soldier was running on. Amy's words continued to bounce around in his head. Eighty percent gone, the remaining unaccounted for, all because of his stupid, stupid strategy—

Knuckles pounded on the control panel, making everyone in the room jump. "We can't go on like this," he growled through gritted teeth.

Espio swallowed hard. "As much as it pains me to say it," he acknowledged, "the best we can do now is to live to fight another day."

The echidna's shoulders slumped as Charmy gave the order to retreat. "We haven't lost yet," said Silver. "Let's fall back and regroup." The live feed of the scene faded from the monitor.

Knuckles sat back in his chair, exhausted by the past… He checked the clock. Thirty minutes? Only a half hour for that new guy to cut through their forces like nothing. There was a heavy silence as the rest of the Resistance stood watching in stunned realization.

"It… it was a good plan, Knuckles," said Amy reassuringly.

"It almost worked!" added Tails. "Well, up until that guy showed up…"

Knuckles gave no response. He simply sat there, staring blankly at the screen.

"Did… did Eggman win again?" asked Charmy innocently.

"Charmy, please," chided Espio, shooting the bee a warning glare.

"Lemme handle this," whispered Vector. He walked up to where Knuckles sat and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Hey, listen. It's not the end of the road yet. That rookie made it through, didn't they? They're probably one step closer to stopping Eggman as we speak!"

"Indeed," agreed Espio. "As long as we've still got one toehold, we're not down for the count just yet."

Knuckles was silent for a minute. Ultimately, he stood up and massaged his temples. "Call any and all survivors that you can find," he ordered. "We need to think of a new plan."

Tiki could only stare at the echidna, her face a mixture of horror and sympathy. "Oh, gods, Knuckles, that… that's horrible. I'm so sorry."

But Knuckles simply waved off her sympathies. "Hey, it's fine. I… I thought up that plan in a minute and a half. Gosh, I'm such an idiot. What was I expecting to happen? I probably—"

Tiki stopped him before he could say any more. "Knuckles, you listen to me right this minute! I will not sit idly by and watch you belittle yourself so!" She took a deep breath. "I've seen my fair share of war, too, you know. I've seen even the cleverest of tacticians fall. Did this… Infinite, you called him? Had he ever done something like that before?"

The echidna thought for a moment. "…Actually, now that I think about it, I'd never even seen him before."

"Did he ever do something similar after that?"

Knuckles shook his head. "…No."

"There it is, then!" declared Tiki. "It was most likely a one-time trick!" Her voice softened. "Listen to me, Knuckles. You had no way of knowing that Infinite would be able to do that. It's like what Mar-Ma—er, Marth would tell his men: you can't blame yourself for something out of your control. What happened that day was not your fault."

"…Maybe," grouched Knuckles. "But I still gotta take responsibility for it."

Tiki contemplated his words for a bit. "That's true," she admitted. "Let me ask you this, then. If someone said that about Sonic, how would you feel?"

"I'd feel… really mad," said Knuckles. "I'd probably tell 'em off or something."

"Okay," said Tiki, nodding her head. "Now if someone—oh, let's say Waluigi—said that about Tails, how would you feel then?"

Knuckles pounded his fists together. "I'd slug 'em, that's what I'd do!"

"So why is it okay when you say it about yourself?"

Knuckles' shoulders slumped. "I—oh."

Tiki was staring directly into the echidna's eyes now. "You have quite a lot of accomplishments under your belt for someone so young. You said you've beaten Eggman many times before, right? Even then, his conquest didn't last too long." She turned to stare up at the clouds floating lazily above. "I will be frank. Even Marth made his fair share of mistakes. But he never chose to dwell on them. He remembered them, yes, but he kept them in mind to motivate him. So keep up the good fight, Knuckles. You're the guardian of the Master Emerald. I know you're more than capable."

Knuckles was silent for a long time. He simply sat there, staring up at the sky and looking very much like he was holding back from saying or doing something. At last he turned and faced Tiki with a small smile. "Thanks, Tiki," he mumbled.

"My pleasure," replied the manakete. The two sat in silence for some time.

After some time, however, Knuckles frowned. "I… well, what now?"

Tiki turned to him. "Hmm?"

"It's just… Man, this is awkward." Knuckles rubbed the back of his head. "You helped me feel better about my experience, but when you told me about your nightmares, all I could do was just change the subject, I guess. It… it doesn't seem fair to you."

Tiki giggled softly. "It's quite alright! You listened to my plight. It's nice to have someone to open up to."

Knuckles nodded. "…Yeah. Yeah, it is," he said quietly.

On the other side of the field, Waluigi had finished regaling Mimikyu with tales of thrilling tennis tournaments from a somewhat-obscure era.

"And pow!" declared Waluigi, clapping his hands together. "I sent-a that tennis ball right past that loser Skipper's racket and into the bleachers! Oh, the crowd went wild! The last of the Varsity Class defeated!" The lanky man sighed as he idly twirled his mustache. "Wehhh… I wonder what happened to that Royal Tennis Academy, eh? Last I heard of 'em, they were facing plenty of budget cuts…"

Mimikyu said nothing, for it knew nothing of the Royal Tennis Academy, or of tennis in general.

A thought suddenly came to Waluigi. "Say, wait a minute… you're a Pokémon, right?"

Mimikyu tilted its head. Or rather, it tilted the Pikachu head of its costume.

"And Pokémon have trainers…"

Mimikyu continued to stare at Waluigi.

"Maybe… maybe I could be your trainer!" Waluigi reasoned. "It'd be perfect! Two underappreciated, unrecognized talents… it's the perfect underdog story! We'd take on the world! Whaddya say?" He held out his hand for Mimikyu to take.

Mimikyu did not respond.

"Wait a minute," muttered Waluigi, abruptly withdrawing his hand. "First, I'd need to catch you in one of those Poké Balls… but where can I find one…?"

Mimikyu began to shuffle away.

"Ah, no matter! If Waluigi can't find a Poké Ball, Waluigi will just steal one instead! Waa ha ha ha! So, anyways, we—h-hey! Where're ya going?!"

Mimikyu did not listen, instead hurrying away a little faster.

"Waaah?! Well, fine! I don't need you, anyway! I'll find a different Pokémon to be my partner! There's loads of 'em here! One of them has to be desperate enough to take me! Then you'll really regret it! I'll—"

A tall shadow fell over Waluigi, interrupting his tirade. "Waah? Hey! Who's in my light?" He whirled around to face the offender. "Listen, bub, do you know who you're… who you're talking to…"

Standing in front of Waluigi was the black and pink Pokémon, staring down at him with big expressionless eyes. Its white ears twitched faintly as it sized up the lanky man. In its paws, it held a thick branch, leaves still clinging onto it.

"…Um." Waluigi darted his eyes at the nearby tree, which was conspicuously missing a bough. He scanned the Pokémon with his Pokédex.

Bewear, the Strong Arm Pokémon. Bewear possesses immense physical strength, and it is often called the most dangerous Pokémon in the Alola region. It shows affection by hugging its companions, but many trainers have left this world after their spines were shattered by a Bewear's hug.

Waluigi swallowed. His knees began to knock together. "Ahh… nice bear?" he whimpered.

Bewear set the tree branch on the ground like a fencepost. With a single swing of its massive paws, it shattered the branch, sending wood chips and leaves flying.

"Uh-oh."

Bewear looked at Waluigi dead-on, and he could've sworn its eyes glinted maliciously.

"Waaaaaaaaaaah!" Quick as a whip, Waluigi turned around and fled for his life, with Bewear in hot pursuit. Waluigi's lanky legs allowed him to cover plenty of distance, but the Bewear was speedy in its own right, taking wild swings at him that just barely clipped the nape of his neck. Other Pokémon were quick to leap out of the way of the chase to avoid being trampled.

Tiki and Knuckles, who had heard Waluigi screaming, came running up to see what was happening. Both of them stopped short when they saw what exactly had Waluigi worried.

"Waaah! Help me! Anyone!" cried Waluigi, narrowly avoiding a small Pokémon that was still wearing its eggshell.

"Wh—ohhh, jeez," said Knuckles, skidding to a stop. "What the heck is that?!"

Tiki had just finished checking her Pokédex. "Okay, don't get too close to it! It's strong enough to break someone's spine with its hugs!"

"Its hugs?!" repeated an incredulous Knuckles. "What's that gotta do with anything?"

"Oh, I don't know, it's what the Pokédex says!" replied Tiki.

"Hey!" called Waluigi. "Less arguing, more rescuing me!"

Just then, a blue squid peeked out from behind a boulder, observing the scene. When Waluigi passed by, it promptly turned upside-down and hit the ground, the force of it causing Waluigi to trip and fall flat on his face. Tiki gasped, while Knuckles took off towards Bewear.

Luckily, Waluigi was able to clamber back to his feet and run away, just as Bewear was about to catch up. However, in his haste, something fell out of his pocket and clattered to the ground.

Waluigi gasped. "My tennis racket!"

Bewear stopped where Waluigi had fallen and bent down to pick up the racket. It examined the item, turning it over in its paws and holding it up to the light. Tiki and Knuckles, who had caught up to the scene, came to a stop behind the Pokémon, making sure to stay out of swinging distance.

"Give that back!" demanded Waluigi, regaining his bearings a bit. "It's mine!"

Bewear gave the racket a practice swing, demonstrating an excellent forehand. Then, without breaking eye contact, it swiftly crushed the tennis racket between its paws. A few small splinters fell unceremoniously to the ground, the sole remnant of the piece of equipment.

Waluigi was devastated. "Noooooo!" he wailed, sinking to the ground in anguish. "My precious racket!" He glared up at Bewear, who stared blankly back down at him. "You…" he growled. "You destroyed my most precious belonging…" Slowly, Waluigi rose back to his full height. His eyes welled with tears of rage. "You… you… Waaaaaaah!" With a furious squawk, Waluigi charged the Pokémon, filled with a new fervor in spite of the size difference.

He was swiftly reminded of the size difference when the Bewear seized him by the scruff of his neck and lifted him up off the ground.

Tiki inhaled sharply, wincing as the Bewear tightened its grip. "Bewear! Drop him!" she ordered.

The Bewear did not budge. Waluigi flailed around in its grip.

"Let him go!" shouted Knuckles. "Don't make us make you!"

Still, the Bewear did not make any movements.

"Bewear…" said Tiki in a dangerous tone. Her hand drifted towards her dragonstone.

At last, Bewear relented. It finally relaxed its grip on the lanky man, who fell to the ground and scrambled away. The bear quickly lost interest in the scene, walking away and swinging its arms carelessly.

Knuckles walked up to the still prone Waluigi and offered a hand. "You alright, man?" he asked.

Waluigi, who had regained his composure, clambered to his feet and crossed his arms. "Bah! I didn't need your help," he grumbled. "I could've handled that thing on my own."

"No, you couldn't," deadpanned Tiki.

Waluigi merely stuck his tongue out at the manakete. "But more importantly…" He gently picked up the shards of his tennis racket, as though they were the remains of a brother. "Waaah…" he whispered mournfully.

"Oh, right," muttered Knuckles, awkwardly scuffing at the ground. "Uh… sorry about your tennis racket, man."

"Indeed," agreed Tiki, who was unsure what to make of the display. "I suppose it, ah… served you well."

"No kidding," whimpered the purple-clad man, his eyes shining. "I've probably won five or six tennis tournaments with this racket. Oh, my poor, sweet, Charlotte…"

"Yeah, I—I'm sorry, Charlotte?" asked Knuckles.

"The name I gave her," explained a tearful Waluigi. "Of all the sports equipment I own, she was nearest and dearest to my heart…"

Tiki stared blankly at Waluigi. "Oh." There was a long, terribly awkward silence, punctuated by Waluigi's sniffles and soft, grief-stricken "waah"s.

"Well, y'know," said Knuckles, mercifully breaking the silence, "I think we are just about done here, don'tcha think?"

"Oh, yes, definitely," agreed Tiki. Waluigi could only glumly nod as he cradled Charlotte's remains like a baby. Together, the three of them marched out of the Day Care, resembling a strange funeral procession with Waluigi as the pallbearer. If there was an audience present, they would have been inclined to think that it was a pretty tacky funeral.

The sun was higher in the sky now, shining through the windows and filling the hallways with light. They stopped in front of one of the windows, watching some of the younger Smashers who had gone outside to play. Tiki noted that Pichu was among them, laughing and capering across the fields.

"Look at them," murmured Waluigi. There was none of his trademark sourness in his voice as he spoke, a subdued despair taking its place. "It's a beautiful day outside. The sun is shining and children are playing. A perfect day. And yet…" He sighed deeply as he cradled what was left of Charlotte, taking out a rose with his other hand. "This world is so harsh and unforgiving. Waah…"

Knuckles and Tiki stared at him. "Uh… right," said Knuckles, his brow furrowed. "Weirdo…"

"Waluigi, do you know what karma is?" asked Tiki.

"Of course I—" Waluigi paused, then glared at Tiki from beneath his hat. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that had you not kicked Pichu earlier this morning, Charlotte would still be with us," replied Tiki, her face hard.

Waluigi's face contorted. "Have you no respect for the dead?" he spluttered.

"Dude. It's a tennis racket," countered Knuckles. "You can just get another one."

Waluigi's eyes darted back and forth between Tiki and Knuckles. He held what was once Charlotte closer to him, ignoring the fragments that embedded themselves into his face. "Neither of you are invited to the funeral," he hissed. And with those final words, he stomped off, whispering sorrowful, comforting words to the pieces of Charlotte that he carried. Tiki and Knuckles were left alone

"Sheesh. What a weirdo," muttered Knuckles as he watched him go. He turned back to Tiki. "What a morning, huh?"

Tiki nodded drowsily. "As exciting as this was, it certainly took a lot out of me. I should…" She yawned. "I really should be catching up on sleep."

Knuckles nodded. "At any rate," he said, checking his wrist for a watch that he quickly remembered he didn't have, "I need to take off anyways. You know how Guile is about being on time for training." He waved goodbye as he began to speed off. "Catch you later!" he called.

Tiki waved farewell to the echidna. She stared pensively out the window, from which she could still see some of the Pokémon in the Day Care. Sure enough, Darkrai was still there, watching the other Pokémon and not moving from its spot.

No matter how much she gazed at the Pokémon, Tiki still couldn't shake the feeling that she was in great danger.

Her and everyone else.

Chapter Text

The full moon rose to shine brightly on the World of Trophies, easing the land into a restful sleep. Tiny pinpricks of light pushed their way into the darkening sky like inquisitive children peeking through keyholes. The night descended like a blanket on both the sky and the World of Trophies.

Within the dormitories of the Smash Mansion, young Starfy was fluffing up his pillow to get ready for a good night's sleep. He brushed his teeth, took his glass of water, and turned off the light (but not before opening the blinds just a crack).

As the star hopped into his bed, he glanced over at a small collection of pictures in frames on his nightstand. "Good night, Starly," he whispered. "Good night, Moe. And good night, Mom and Dad," Starfy said, gazing at the last picture, one of himself and two other star-like creatures in formal clothing.

With well wishes said, the young prince closed his eyes and began to drift off to slumberland, ready for a night of pleasant dreams.

…

…

"…Starfy…"

Starfy turned over in his sleep.

"…Starfy…" A cold wind blew through the room.

Starfy blearily opened his eyes. What time was it? As he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, he noticed that his bedroom was darker than normal. The moon was still shining through the window, but outside of the small patch of light on the floor, the rest of the room was completely black, like his eyes were still closed.

"…Starfy…" There was that voice again, so deep and wicked, it sent a chill up Starfy's spine. It was painfully familiar to the young prince.

But how? thought Starfy as he cowered in his bed. Me and Starly and Moe beat him that time! How is he here?!

"Starfy…!" The voice was much louder now, making the room shake. From within the deep darkness of the room, Starfy could barely make out a shape slithering across the floor.

"You thought you defeated me then, didn't you?" asked the voice. The intruder moved closer. Starfy felt the urge to stand up and fight, but his body refused to cooperate.

"Hnn hnn hnn hnn… you truly are as foolish as I thought you were, starfish. As long as evil exists in the world, I shall return, time and time again, until we are victorious… until the world is plunged into darkness…" The shape now rose to its full height, much taller than Starfy, taller than Lyn or even Rodin, and stepped out of the shadow.

A frightful figure, tall enough that its head barely grazed the ceiling, and covered in a substance that dripped from its body like ink, but much more unpleasant to the senses, leered down at Starfy with blank white eyes. It grinned maliciously as the star tried to cover his head with his pillow.

"I am Evil!" bellowed the intruder. "And all shall perish within my grasp!"

Starfy opened his mouth to scream as Evil reached out to seize him with a cold metallic hand. It seemed like the whole world was shaking and falling apart…

Thud.

When Starfy opened his eyes again, he found himself staring at the ceiling. It seemed that he had somehow fallen off his bed. As he righted himself, he saw that the room was empty. There was no trace, no sign at all that Evil had been present. He clung tightly to his bedsheet. What was that? Had it just been a dream after all? But it seemed so real…

A knock sounded at his door, snapping the star out of his reverie. The door opened, and Jeff peeked his head in. "Starfy?" he asked. "Are you all right? I heard a scream, so I came running…"

Starfy paused. "I… I had a bad dream," he mumbled.

"Oh, dear," Jeff gasped. He stepped into the room, worry etched onto his face. "Do you need anything? A drink, perhaps?"

"Um…" Starfy swallowed hard, glancing at the darker portion of the room as though something might pop out at any moment. "Yeah. Some warm milk, I think."

"I see…" Jeff motioned for Starfy to follow him, and the two headed towards the kitchen to heat up some milk. As the duo shuffled down the halls and out of sight, the imposing form of Nightmare stepped out of the shadows, grinning wickedly. Glancing down the hall to make sure Jeff and Starfy were gone, he drifted in the opposite direction towards an old wooden door, which he gently pushed open.

As he expected, Mother Brain was already waiting for him, looking imposing and authoritative as she sat at the far end of the room. Devil and Ghirahim were also present, sitting on opposite sides of the table. Devil looked impatient, grouchily tapping a claw on the table, while Ghirahim looked quite relaxed, slouching forward in his chair and resting his head in his palm.

"Well, well, well," said Ghirahim by way of greeting. "Look who's on time tonight."

Nightmare grinned mirthlessly in response. "You know what they say," he rasped. "The early bird catches the worm." His gaze glided over to the sole empty seat in the room. "Speaking of worms… I wonder what's keeping our friend Albert."

"Pah! You know how humans are," growled Devil. "I would not be surprised if he simply forgot about this meeting."

"Nor would I," echoed Mother Brain. "You all saw how he acted at the last meeting. Such a feeble and weak-willed creature, as most humans tend to be… Had he lived on Zebes, I doubt he would have survived for more than a few minutes."

The sound of footsteps, heavy and quick, sounded outside the room, getting closer and closer. The door swung open, and in came Dr. Wily, looking very, very tired, and very, very anxious.

"Speak of the devil," drawled Ghirahim.

"You are late," stated Mother Brain. Her voice was cold and emotionless, but her displeasure was very clear. "Explain yourself."

Dr. Wily hobbled into a chair (to his displeasure, the only available seat was next to Ghirahim) and tried to catch his breath. "I was busy… trying to build a legion of robots for your… for your army. Just like you said, remember?!" he gasped.

"An army?" repeated Mother Brain. She stared hard at Wily, as if she was staring directly into his soul. The mad doctor shrunk under her gaze, suddenly feeling like he was pinned to his chair. It was a cold, hard, stare, one that reminded him of Mega Man after he had destroyed Wily's latest death machine and had him cornered on the floor and begging for mercy.

She leered and leered for quite some time until, to Wily's relief, she broke eye contact with a scoff. "You are getting ahead of yourself, Albert," she droned. "When did I ask you to build an army?"

Dr. Wily lost his voice. "I—er—but I—you said—"

"Honestly, Albert," continued Mother Brain with a roll of her eye. "Upon your arrival to this world, I was informed that you were one of the greatest geniuses of your own world. While my expectations have been drastically lowered since then, I supposed you would at least act the part."

This remark earned some snickers from Ghirahim and Nightmare. Dr. Wily's normally pale face flushed red. "E-excuse me! I am a genius! I—"

"Please, save your defenses," interrupted Mother Brain. "You need not waste your time building your little robots just yet." She turned to the others. "As for the rest of you… for tonight's meeting, I shall give you your instructions to take the first steps towards my plan."

"Now wait just a moment," cut in Devil. His glowing red eyes were narrowed in suspicion. "I have noticed that you have not yet divulged any details regarding this plan of yours. How am I to gain control over my realm if I do not know what exactly I am working towards?"

"Had you not interrupted," countered Mother Brain, "you would have given me the opportunity to tell you. At any rate, your inquiry has given me a segue into my explanation." Her cerebrum throbbed and contorted (Dr. Wily gagged and looked away), and a small compartment on the bottom of her glass case opened up to project a hologram onto the center of the table. It quickly took the shape of two large hands, the left one contorting its fingers.

"Master Hand and Crazy Hand," said Mother Brain. "The Spirits of Creation and Destruction and organizers of the Smash Brothers Tournament. You may have asked yourselves, 'How are they able to bring not only many fighters from a multitude of different worlds?'"

"Is it not their formidable cosmic power?" asked Devil.

"A reasonable guess," replied Mother Brain. "The answer lies in the invitations they send to new challengers." The hologram changed to take the shape of an envelope sealed with a familiar logo. "During both this tournament and the last, I have seen them send these envelopes to different worlds using technology to open rifts across time and space. Such a wonderful implement would allow me to call in the Space Pirates with but a single press of a button." She swiveled around to face Dr. Wily. "Which is where you come in, Albert."

Dr. Wily jumped, not expecting to be called on so early. "M-me?"

"Yes, you. Do try and keep up. Your mission is to take their delivery technology and reverse engineer it to open rifts to other dimensions. Is that doable for you?"

"Doable?" snorted Wily. "Please! Have you forgotten who I am? Stealing and hacking into a mere mailbox is child's play for me!"

Mother Brain remained unimpressed by his boasting. "It better be," she said. She then turned to Nightmare. "And you, Nightmare Wizard…"

The phantom stirred. "And what shall be the role that I play?" he asked.

"Your job is to spy on the other inferior creatures gathered here," said Mother Brain. "Find out their weaknesses. Discover their primal fears. Use them in case any meddlesome individuals attempt to pry into my intentions."

Nightmare smiled cruelly. "I'll do everything in my power," he promised. "To tell you the truth, there is one soul I've had my eye on for quite some time now…"

"Patience, Nightmare," advised Mother Brain. "Everything in due time. You may tell me about this once we reach the next step."

"Oh, I envy you, Nightmare," confessed Ghirahim. "I really do. Now then, what are my instructions?" asked the demon.

Mother Brain peered at him for a moment before speaking. "I am sorry to disappoint you," she intoned, "but you have no instructions until later. While your skills are vital to my success, to use them now would raise too much suspicion. For now, your task is to keep quiet and drive away any potential intruders. Understand?"

Ghirahim's face fell. He seemed quite disappointed, but he made no further protest. "Understood," he mumbled, curling his lip and glancing down at his sabre.

"The same goes for you, Devil," continued Mother Brain. "We cannot afford to be too rash at this juncture." Unlike Ghirahim, the Devil made no protest at all, instead staring impassively at her.

Mother Brain shut off the hologram and turned to the rest of the band of villains. "I would advise all four of you to keep your wits about you. For I have reason to believe that anyone could be spying on us at any given moment!" She stirred in her glass case. "At any rate, I expect you all to follow my commands to the letter. Meeting adjourned. Do not fail me." She finished this statement with a rather pointed glare at Dr. Wily.

The rogues left with the parting threat still fresh in their minds. Dr. Wily looked particularly rankled. "Bah! Who does that Mother Brain think she is?!" he fumed. "The least she could do is treat her supporters with some respect!"

"Respect is not given, human," growled Devil. "It is earned, whether through words or through deeds. How do you suppose I gained control of Devil World? I seized the darkness and struck fear among you mortals. The underworld was in turmoil before I came to power, and I brought it to order." The demon grinned as thoughts of grotesque monsters filled his brain. "Now I command a glorious, powerful army, ready to serve me at a moment's notice. And once you—" he jabbed a finger in Wily's chest to punctuate his point— "steal that technology for the flesh-and-steel creature to use, they will be under my control once more. I suggest you do as she instructs, with minimal grievance on your end."

Ghirahim clapped slowly and deliberately in response to his speech. "My, what a story, Devil." he chuckled. "You are truly an inspiration to us all." His gaze suddenly fixed on Wily. "You ought to consider yourself lucky, Albert," he sneered. "Mother Brain let someone like you handle such a crucial step so early in the operation." He regarded his own sabre with a longing, almost hungry look in his eyes. "I know she said my turn will come later, but I can't help but feel a bit impatient. So, I'm telling you now, if you should spoil my fun before it has a chance to begin…" The demon lord was looming over the scientist now, licking his lips in anticipation. His words came out in a deadly whisper. "…it won't be Mother Brain's fury you will have to fear." Ghirahim snapped his fingers brusquely, and he disappeared in a shower of red and gold diamonds.

Devil also took his leave, turning into a bat in a puff of smoke. "You would do well to heed the demon lord's words, human," he warned. "Lord Ghirahim may be theatrical in his words, but his thirst for carnage is no laughing manner." He turned a corner and flew out of sight, leaving the man to ruminate on his words.

Dr. Wily sighed. "Why does such a brilliant mind as me have to do so much to get the bare minimum of respect?" he asked no one in particular.

A cold chill ruffled his lab coat as an answer. It was not the cold of the night wind, but a deeper, more ghastly cold, a cold that made his breath catch and his legs turn to jelly. Nightmare glided in front of him, his pale face as gaunt and cunning as ever.

Dr. Wily glared at him as he waited. "Well? Aren't you going to threaten me, too?" he grumbled.

"Not tonight, Wily," assured Nightmare. "The fear I sense in you now will provide me sustenance for a fortnight." With a final, bone-chilling laugh, he transformed into a dark orb covered in stars and soared down the hallway and out of sight, leaving Wily alone.

Wily sulked and huffed, crossing his arms. "Hmph! Disrespect me, will they?! 'Measly little robots', eh?! Well, I'll show them! I'll show them all! I'll build war machines the likes of which the world has never seen before!"

He paused mid-tirade, remembering Devil and Ghirahim's words. I suggest you do as she instructs, with minimal grievance on your end…

…It won't be Mother Brain's fury you will have to fear…

"…Right after I steal Master Hand's mailing device, of course…"

Wily hurried away, in the opposite direction of his demonic cohorts. He'd have to put aside his ego for now if he wanted to take over his world. Somehow, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him… He quickly shooed those thoughts away. He had a deadline to meet… and he was not looking forward to the consequences if he should fail.

But little did the mad doctor know that someone was indeed watching him, from the moment he had stepped out of the room at the end of the meeting. The figure had wanted to stop Wily and ask some questions, but he had run off before he had the opportunity. Now, they could only watch as he fled the scene. The onlooker gritted their teeth.

"I don't know what you're up to, Doctor…"

Zero traced a finger along his Z-Saber.

"…but mark my words, I'm going to put a stop to it."

Chapter Text

It was a fairly quiet day among the Assist Trophies. Indeed, it seemed so peaceful that even the clouds seemed to be sleepy. There were very few scheduled battles for the day, so plenty of fighters and assistants alike were off for the day. And Spring Man was spending his day off the best way he knew how: kicking back in front of the television with his feet up and a slice of Diamond City-style deep-dish pizza in his hands, courtesy of Chef Kawasaki. With his free hand, he idly flipped through the channels with the remote control.

"Hmm…" He pressed a button on the remote, and the channel switched to a man grinning widely, holding up several fancy-looking watches in different colors. "When you wear this watch, you'll be sure to make a statement. Coming from a long line of Galarian watchmakers, one of these can be yours for the low, low price of—"

Click. Spring Man changed the channel. Now, there was a scene of a group of foxes standing in the middle of a snowy field. They were of varying sizes, but they all had the same snow-white fur. A gentle, soothing voice began to narrate: "This skulk of Fox Pokémon has taken a short rest in this field. Under the watchful eyes of their Ninetales parents, they are free to play and wrestle as they wish." One Vulpix pounced on its sibling from behind. The two of them tumbled around and around in the snow, pawing at each other's faces.

"Aw…" Spring Man's adoring smile spread wide across his face. The two Pokémon were quite cuddly.

The narration continued. "In other circumstances, the parents would join in the fun themselves. But today, they are on guard, protecting their pups. Note the purposeful stance: tails up, legs stiffened, and ears high and erect. They could be besieged at any time by predators."

At that moment, the camera panned over to a group of mammalian Pokémon with bluish gray fur and bright red crowns of feathers on their heads. "These Weavile have been quietly observing the family for quite some time. And now…"

The Weavile rushed forward, leaping out with bared teeth and ice beginning to form on their claws.

"…They strike."

Quick as a whip, one of the Ninetales lunged, the other pacing protectively around the Vulpix. "Here, the mother goes on the offensive against the Weavile, while the father stays behind to mind the pups." The mother Ninetales expelled a cold, sparkling mist from its mouth, slowing some of the Weavile down. As the two groups continued to fight, the Weavile with the largest crest snuck past them and advanced on the cowering Vulpix.

"No!" cried Spring Man.

As the Weavile raised its claws, the father Ninetales pounced on it, sending the two Pokémon rolling through the snow. Spring Man silently cheered as the fox pushed the weasel off it with its feet.

While the Ninetales and Weavile squared off, the rest of the gang was pestering the mother with attacks, forming icicles in their claws to throw at her and striking at her tails when her back was turned. The Ninetales fought back as best she could, flinging powdery snow at those that were farther away and snapping at those that tried to get closer.

Suddenly, the mother crouched down, her tails almost parallel to the ground. The Weavile paused, exchanging glances amongst themselves. "The mother takes a defensive position. Its aim is to confuse the Weavile and goad them into attacking." There was a short, tense silence between the Pokémon. Spring Man leaned forward in his seat, completely enthralled by the spectacle and drama of the encounter.

At last, one of the Weavile took the bait, moving in for the kill. As it raised its razor-sharp claws, the Ninetales leapt up and pounced on the Weavile, turning over its prone body with its snout and bashing it with her paws. The unfortunate Weavile went sailing into the distance.

"One of the Weavile falls for its tricks, and is punished swiftly and harshly," said the narrator. "It uses a technique scientists refer to as 'Play Rough', a maneuver that is very effective against Weavile and other Pokémon of its type. One might say it's even 'super effective'."

Spring Man cheered loudly as the rest of the pack of Weavile began to back off. "Yeah-hah! You show 'em!"

"Must be a pretty exciting movie, huh?"

Spring Man stopped mid-applause. Isaac and Phosphora were standing in the doorway, both of them looking like they were trying their best not to laugh.

"…Oh." Spring Man's long arms dropped to the ground as he noticed them. "Yeah, there's this really cool Pokémon documentary on now. They had a Ninetales just absolutely wail on one of those Weavile things! Here, watch!"

Phosphora and Isaac stepped into the room to watch the film. The television now showed a Weavile advancing on a prone Vulpix pup, with the parents running to its rescue in the background. One of the Ninetales, noticed Spring Man, had a limp in its stride.

"The parents rush to save the left behind pup… but it is too late," came the silky smooth voice of the narrator. "The Weavile sharpens its claws and begins to—"

Spring Man stretched out one of his arms to turn off the television before Isaac and Phosphora could be exposed to the horrors of nature in the Pokémon world. "They were winnin' before," he mumbled. "So, what'dja need?"

Phosphora regained her bearings first, having been put off by the sudden violence of the documentary. "…Oh, yeah! The street market is back in town!"

Spring Man blinked, confusion knitting his brow. "The… street market? Is that some kind of fundraiser or something?"

"Ehh… kind of," began Isaac. "Master Hand lets a bunch of people from a bunch of different worlds come to the mansion to sell things! You can get plenty of stuff there that you can't really get here!"

"They only ever come once every month or so," continued Phosphora, "so everyone tries to buy as much as they can! Crazy Hand says it's 'good for publicity', or something. Not that we need it, considering I'm here, but it's great for us!"

"Anyways," said Isaac, "we were wondering if you wanna come with!"

Spring Man grinned. "Yeah I'd love to go! I've had some extra cash burning a hole in my pocket, anyways!"

"Great!" said Isaac. He glanced up at the clock. "They've probably finished setting up by now. Let's go!"

Together, the trio left the room and raced down the hallway, eager to browse some interdimensional wares.

"So what do they even have at the street market?" asked Spring Man.

"That's the best part," answered Phosphora, pushing past Marth. "Hey, watch it! …It's different every time, so there's always a reason to go!"

"They used to have these all the time back in the Brawl tournament!" said Isaac, nearly tripping over Dr. Wily, who seemed like he was in a hurry to be somewhere. "Ooh, sorry—Yeah, I feel like you'd love it!"

The trio reached the main entrance of the mansion. In the distance, they could see several mysterious individuals carrying boxes and setting up stands. Spring Man opened the door, where a bus was waiting for them.

"Ahoy!" called Kapp'n with a friendly wave. "Off to the street market, are ye? Well then, hop on me bus, by gar!"

The three of them boarded the bus, where someone was already waiting in a seat, staring contemplatively out a window. He had long white blond hair and piercing golden eyes, and wore a black jacket with a white cravat, with a black overcoat covering his outfit. His gaze met that of Isaac, who hesitated. "Oh, I—um…"

"Hello," said the man. His voice was low and aloof.

"…Hey." Isaac awkwardly waved a hand. Feeling that the conversation was over, he sat down, with Phosphora and Spring Man following suit.

"Alrighty!" said Kapp'n. "Next stop, the street market! Now, listen to a grand sea shanty o' love and loss!" He began to sing:

"Me new hairstyle, it's really easy ta fix,

A pair o' chopsticks that's what I use for a comb…"

"…Does he even have any hair?" whispered Phosphora. Kapp'n kept singing.

"I'd like a perm or an afro, a mohawk or odango,

But I got just one lock, so's I usually just shine up me dome!"

Kapp'n glanced at Spring Man through his rear view mirror. "I don't suppose that comes naturally, does it, me heartie?"

"Nope!" chirped Spring Man, running a hand through his pompadour. "Just this morning, it took me hours to get this baby presentable!"

"Gar!" laughed Kapp'n. "Some people have all the luck!"

As the old kappa chortled over his joke, Phosphora and Isaac pulled Spring Man aside. "Hey, Spring Man, who's that guy?" asked the Venus Adept, gesturing towards the blond man. "I've never seen that guy around."

"Hmmm? Oh, that's Alucard!" said Spring Man. "I met him back at orientation. He mostly keeps to himself, but he's pretty cool."

"Oh, really?" Isaac glanced at Alucard, who was still gazing pensively at the countryside. Isaac couldn't help but admit that he looked quite impressive, what with his incredible fashion sense and his calm, stoic demeanor. "Lemme try and talk to him. He's new, so maybe I can give him some tips." He sidled up to the man. "Hey, Alucard, how's it been?" he asked, as though he'd known him for more than fourteen seconds.

Alucard glanced sideways at Isaac. "…It's been passable, I suppose," he mused. "If nothing else, it's been peaceful."

"Great! Cool!" said Isaac. "…So, this your first time at the street market? Looking to find anything cool?"

"You could say that." Alucard did not elaborate.

"…Right on. Right on." Sensing that the conversation was dying, Isaac tried to rack his brain for a topic. No way was he gonna make a fool of himself in front of Alucard. From what Spring Man had said, Alucard was a newcomer, and he was a veteran. He had to show him the ropes, or at least give off the image of a cool, dependable mentor-type! There had to be something… Anything would do!

"Is your world flat or round?"

Alucard slowly turned to face Isaac, looking at him as though he'd grown a second head. Behind the boy, Spring Man's shoulders sank, while Phosphora covered her mouth with her arm to hide her laughter. Even Kapp'n slowed down the bus as he absorbed the information that flowed out of the Adept's mouth.

"…Um."

Isaac felt his face heat up. He glanced towards the window and wondered for a moment if he could safely throw himself out of it. Not daring to even look at Alucard, he slunk back into his seat.

"Isaac, what was that?" asked Spring Man, genuinely confused.

"I… I panicked," mumbled Isaac. "I just thought of the first thing that popped into my head."

"Yeah, real smooth, flat-earther," teased Phosphora. "But hey, you definitely made an impression on him."

Isaac could only groan as he buried his face in his hands. "Yar," came the croaky voice of Kapp'n, snapping him out of his reverie. "We've reached our destination."

"C'mon, Isaac, buck up," said Spring Man, standing up and stretching his legs. "Some shopping will be sure to cheer you up!" The three of them stepped off the bus as it drove away behind them.

It was unlike anything the three of them had ever seen. A plethora of homemade shops, booths, and tables spread out and out all across the mansion lawn. Just as many fighters, assistants, and even some others that none of them recognized were out and about, perusing the stalls, chatting amongst themselves, or simply sitting under the sun to quietly observe the scene.

Spring Man, Isaac, and Phosphora exchanged gleeful grins. Then, without a moment's hesitation, they all sped off into the thick of the market, eager to shop until they dropped.

As the trio wandered around the fair, wondering where to start, they were suddenly stopped by a tired-looking young man in a lavender polo shirt. "Excuse me!" he called. "Excuse me! Hey, you! You there, with the blue arms and the toothpaste hair!"

The man with the funny-looking pompadour pointed at himself, mouthing "Who, me?" He was beckoned closer to the stall. "Yeah? Whatcha need?" he asked.

The tired man smiled. As Spring Man drew closer, he could see that he was holding a small white box with the image of a Poké Ball engraved on it. "I see you have quite the eye for luxury. Let me ask you something, sir. How would you like to be the envy of all your friends with the cutting edge of technology?" Coming from his mouth, the words seemed quite stilted and rehearsed. Without even waiting for Spring Man to answer, he continued, "Introducing the latest and greatest evolution in electronics in Sinnoh, a true technological marvel, it's the one, the only, the Pokémon Watch!" He opened the box with a flourish to reveal two shiny digital watches, one blue and one pink. "It functions as a regular watch, but its variety of apps includes a memo pad, a dowsing machine, a pedometer, and a dot art program!"

Spring Man's eyes grew wide and he leaned in closer. "Oooh…" Just as he reached out a hand to touch one, the salesman quickly closed the box.

"Er… yeah, sorry," began the man, "but my boss says—I mean, we at the Pokétch Company have a strict 'no-touching' policy for unpurchased merchandise. The only way to touch one is to buy one, so…"

Spring Man reached into his pocket and slammed a few bills onto the counter. "Blue, please!"

The man smiled a tired smile. "Great!" He collected the payment and handed him another Pokétch wrapped in plastic. "Thank you for your patronage! Come again!"

The spring-armed man tore open the packaging like a child on Christmas morning and slipped it onto his wrist. "Mondo cool…" He flicked through some of the apps, using a color changer app to change the background screen from green to blue. "Guys, you gotta check this… out?"

Isaac and Phosphora did not share the same enthusiasm that Spring Man had for his new purchase. Isaac was staring at him with an almost-worried expression, while Phosphora looked as though he'd grown a second head. Spring Man blinked, oblivious to any wrongdoing on his part. "…What?" he asked.

Phosphora stopped walking and faced Spring Man, pinching the bridge of her nose. "This… this is your first street market, right?"

Spring Man nodded slowly in response. "…Yeah. What about it?" he replied.

Phosphora nodded, a quick and hurried motion in contrast. "Yeah, I figured as much."

Isaac shot her a look. "Phosphora, be nice."

"What?" she said defensively. "I'm just being honest! If anything, it's my fault for not warning him earlier."

Spring Man's eyes darted between the two. "W-warn me? About what?"

Isaac sighed deeply. "You know, about the people that try to—"

"Scam people," finished Phosphora. She jerked a thumb in the direction of the Pokétch stall. "I'll admit, that guy wasn't so bad, but what if it was someone who was? You really need to be careful around here."

Isaac nodded in agreement. "Back in the Brawl tournament, there were a lot more con artists at the street market. Like, a lot more. More scammers than there were legitimate shops. Midway through, Master Hand had to put a bunch of restrictions on it to make it fair for everyone."

Spring Man stared glumly at his Pokétch, which already seemed like it was losing a bit of its luster. "Jeez," he mumbled. "Not even ten minutes here and I already made a bad decision, huh?"

"No, no, come on," reassured Isaac. "It's not your fault! That… Pokétch is really cool, actually! It's just like Phosphora said, you gotta be careful at a street market."

"What I mean is, you can't be taken in by marketers and all their flattery," said Phosphora. "That's how they get you, y'know. And it's not just buying stuff, either. Just look what happened with poor Lyn. The higher-ups took in her and the rest of her friends, probably smooth-talked 'em with fancy words and corporate jargon, and bam! Now they're in—ugh!—a gacha."

"Yeah, pretty much," agreed Isaac, wincing at the mere mention of the genre. "The important thing is, you gotta use your good judgement around here. Do you get what we're saying?"

Spring Man nodded. "Yeah, I guess. Thanks for giving me the heads up."

Isaac shot him a thumbs-up in response. "No prob. Alright, let's see what else we got!"

The trio continued to roam around the marketplace. As they walked, they noticed that the shops weren't necessarily grouped by their home world. In fact, the standowners had intentionally placed their stalls near those from other worlds. "Makes sense," Phosphora had explained. "It's pretty exciting to get stuff from other places, isn't it?"

They continued their tour, observing some of the strange people that they saw. A couple of llamas, one blue and one pink, strolled hand, or hoof, in hand, casually browsing. Meanwhile, two sharply dressed women in hats were chatting between themselves. A portly man was leaning against a stall, haggling with the proprietor over the price of a fruit none of them recognized. The sun shone gently down on the marketplace, and the aroma of spices mixed with the scent of flowers filling the air. Isaac was just about to stop and get a bite to eat when he heard someone calling his name.

"Isaac! Hey, Isaac! Over here!"

There was Lyn, accompanied by the Sablé Prince, both of them sitting at a table and waving frantically. "Well met, Isaac!" said the Sablé Prince. He stood up and bowed politely. "Fancy meeting you all here."

"It's so great to see you all!" said Lyn, beaming wide. "Street market day definitely gets exciting, doesn't it?"

Spring Man nodded in agreement. "This place is bananas! You guys find anything you like yet?"

In response, Lyn took out an ordinary-looking flask that held a strange purple liquid. "Vulnerary," she explained, seeing the confusion on everyone's faces. "It's a common healing solution from the plains."

"Seriously?" asked Phosphora. "You're buying from your own home when there's a bunch of cool stuff for sale? Oh, come on, Lyn, live a little!"

"You may call it boring," replied Lyn, "but for me, in such a strange world, it's nice to have at least some sense of familiarity." She pensively traced her thumb along the bottom of the flask. "If nothing else, it lets me provide support for small businesses."

The Sablé Prince nodded in approval. "It's a noble goal to have," he admitted.

"Well, what about you, Your Majesty?" asked Isaac. "Did you find anything you like?"

The prince pouted. "Not quite yet, I'm afraid. I confess that these wares are quite appealing, but so far, nothing's truly managed to capture my attention. Why, if there were something truly captivating, then I'd—"

A scrap of paper fluttering in the wind interrupted the prince's musings, smacking him clean in the face, much to the amusement of those present. He peeled it off and read the words that were written on it.

Twenty paces behind the papaya tree,

Incredible wares you soon shall see.

"Whoa," said Spring Man after he had read it. "It's some kinda riddle map."

"That's weirdly convenient," commented Phosphora.

"Indeed it is," concurred the Sablé Prince. "And if this flyer tells the truth, then perhaps I'll be able to find something worth buying!" He stood up and pointed into the crowd of people. "Now then, let's be off! We must find this mysterious store, without delay!"

The prince and his apparent entourage filed through the plaza in search of this new shop. The crowd was bustling, with chatter between sellers and buyers filling the air, old friends catching up after a long time, and new friendships being forged. Off to the side, Isaac spotted Samurai Goroh, sitting at a table with the Hammer Brother, Wario, and a wolf with an eyepatch. All four of them were huddled around a small television, watching it closely and whispering to each other. The television made a noise that sounded much like someone getting launched away in a Smash battle. Wolf let out a hushed cheer and shot a smug look towards Wario, who sulkily dropped a few coins in his outstretched claw.

"Ignore them, Isaac," commanded the Sablé Prince. "They are naught but knaves engaged in their shady dealings. You would do well to avoid them." He lifted his chin a little higher and sniffed. "Luckily, I know how to be prudent and sensible with my money."

The prince and his train continued to snake through the crowd. A skunk in a hat and suspenders was showing off assorted shoes to a shoal of Inklings, a tall woman was selling ice cream with an oddly familiar shape, and an odd-looking humanoid with a palm tree growing out of its head, standing at what looked like a fruit stand.

"Howdy!" greeted the palm tree person. "Fancy a papaya? They're fresh from Isle Delfino!"

The Sablé Prince paused. His gaze flicked back and forth from the fruit in the vendor's hand to the palm tree on his head. He beckoned Spring Man closer. "Ah… Spring Man, was it? Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

The gears began to turn in Spring Man's head. He glanced down at the paper that the prince was holding. "A papaya tree…" He rubbed his chin in thought.

"I'm beginning to think that perhaps the papaya tree is not, in fact, an actual papaya tree," said the Sablé Prince, beginning to rub his own chin. "Perhaps the papaya tree is simply a metaphor for this chap selling them, and our destination is somewhere nearby! But where…?"

"Well, it says that it's 'twenty paces behind the papaya tree'," said Spring Man. "So… maybe it's that conspicuous-lookin' place right there behind the fruit stand?"

Sure enough, behind the fruit stand, Spring Man was pointing at a tent deep red in color, roughly twenty paces away, give or take a couple of steps. It certainly stood out, not just in its appearance, but in the fact that it stood far away from the other shops in the street market.

The Sablé Prince paused. "Oh… what? …I mean, yes, of course! I knew it was there all along! I was simply waiting for the rest of you to catch on! Ah ha ha ha ha!" Based on the way the young prince avoided eye contact and adjusted his cravat, it was very clear to the rest of the ensemble that he had had no idea where he was going. "Now then, let us investigate this mysterious tent!"

They walked up to the tent, its fabric fluttering gently in the breeze. The Sablé Prince cleared his throat. "Excuse me. Hello? Is anyone there?" he said politely.

There was a rustling sound from inside the tent. "Hehehe… you did well to find this place," rasped a voice.

"I mean, it was kinda out in the open," commented Phosphora.

"Do you have a member's card?"

The prince paused. "A—a what?" he asked.

"A member's card," repeated the voice, as though they were explaining it to a child (which technically, they were). "Or a VIP card, as it's known in some circles. Do you have one or not?"

"It's all right, Your Highness," interrupted Lyn. The look on her face seemed to say that she had been in this very situation before. She pulled out a small plastic card from somewhere on her person. "This will suffice, I think," she said, extending her arm toward the entrance.

A hand immediately shot out from inside the tent and snatched the member's card from Lyn's hand. For a brief moment, they thought they saw a tuft of red hair. After some time, the hand returned the card to Lyn. "Alright, this looks like the real deal," said the voice. The fabric of the entrance parted a little, allowing them to enter. "Come on in!"

The tent was mid-sized, and despite the dim lighting, it looked as bright and as cheery as a candy store. Dozens and dozens of shields with odd symbols on them and weapons that none of the assistants recognized lined the walls, and rings and medals contained in glass cases were arranged in neat aisles. Standing behind the counter was a young woman with bright red hair, leaning against the wall and smiling widely. "Welcome to Anna's Superstore!" she declared.

Lyn returned her smile and shook her hand. "Ah, Anna! It's been too long. I trust you've left Elibe in good hands?" she joked.

Anna blinked as she furrowed her brow. "Elibe?" she repeated. "I've never been there in my life. You must be thinking of one of my sisters."

It was Lyn's turn to look confused. "Your… sisters?"

"Oh, yeah, I got a whole bunch of sisters all over." replied Anna. "They're all over the world, and they're all named Anna."

"Ohhh, I get it," said Phosphora. "You set up shop back at the mansion, same as the Nooklings and Beedle, right?"

Anna looked at her quizzically. "What? No, actually, I came here from—h-hey! Hands off the merchandise!"

Spring Man, who had been handling a large silver jousting lance, started and dropped the weapon to the floor with a loud clang. "Sorry," he mumbled sheepishly as he scrambled to set it back on the wall.

Elsewhere, Isaac and the Sablé Prince were browsing the aisles of glass cases. The prince seemed particularly interested in a bow with silver limbs and a blue leather grip. His eyes shone with admiration. "Isaac! Oh, Isaac, you must take a look at this bow! Isn't it marvelous?"

Isaac let out a small hum of appreciation. "Yeah, this looks great! Pity I'm not so good with bows…"

"Oh, really?" replied the Sablé Prince. "Well, I dabbled in archery a bit in my youth."

"Did you now?" asked Isaac, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, yes," nodded the prince. "Of course, it was very soon after that both Richard and I took up fencing." He gazed contemplatively at the bow. "A Brave Bow, hmmm…? Maybe I'm not so rusty after all…"

Isaac stopped. "Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa there," he began, remembering what happened with Spring Man earlier. "Are you sure you want to spend your money so soo—aaaand he's gone."

The Sablé Prince walked up to the front of the store where Anna was waiting and placed the bow on the counter. "Excuse me, Miss Anna? How much for this Brave Bow?"

"Ah, a budding archer, are you?" said Anna as she began to appraise the bow. "Well, luckily for you, this little number is at the low, low price of… of…"

Anna's voice trailed off as she stared down at her customer. The Sablé Prince had taken out a large bag of money that threatened to burst from its weight. The wooden counter creaked under its weight as he placed it on the counter with a loud thunk.

Anna's jaw dropped. She quickly composed herself, saying, "Wow, that's, uh… quite a lot of money you got there, isn't it, little guy?"

"Oh, it's nothi—e-excuse me?!" cried the Sablé Prince. "Little guy?! Do you know who I am?! I am the esteemed and most excellent prince of the kingdom of Sablé, Prince—"

As he declared his name out loud for all the world to hear, Spring Man dropped an incredibly expensive-looking vase, shattering into several less expensive shards with a loud, harsh crash that drowned out most other sounds. "Sorry!" cried the spring-armed man from across the store.

Anna's nose twitched as she adjusted her collar. "Okay, I may not have caught your name, but I did hear that you're a prince, right?" Phosphora noticed that the whimsical gleam in Anna's eye was gone, and she was now looking down at the prince with a strange, calculating look. "Well, why didn't you say so?! You know, we have a, uh… special discount for royalty…"

"A discount, you say?" said the Sablé Prince, his eyes shining.

"But of course! It's not every day I get to meet a prince from a foreign land!" said Anna, smiling wide and placing a finger on her cheek. "Please, have a look around!"

Lyn sighed as she watched the Sablé Prince examine Anna's other wares. "I have a bad feeling that we'll be here a while." She turned to Isaac, Phosphora, and Spring Man. "You guys can go on ahead."

"You sure?" asked Spring Man. "We can stick around. It'll be like what, five minutes?"

"No, you don't know him very well," said Lyn, shaking her head. "He has basically no impulse control. Anna will be lucky if there's anything left." She sighed again as she watched the prince's eyes light up when he spied a ring with a glowing ruby. "We'll catch up with you later."

After leaving the store and bidding farewell to Lyn and the Sablé Prince, the trio was back out in the square, where the crowds seemed to have thinned out a bit. Now that there were less people, they could easily see what each shop had to offer.

"Hey! Hey, over here!" said a burly-looking dog in a blue sweater and jacket. "Interested in our new line of acorn and barrel nuts? They've got the Cornerian seal of approval!"

"Crazy Cap! Welcome to Crazy Cap!" called a pair of snails wearing tall yellow and purple hats. "We have souvenirs straight from Bubblaine!"

"Turnips for sale! Turnips for sale!" squeaked a small young boar carrying a basket of turnips on her head. "It might not be Sunday morning, but I've still got a fresh crop of turnips!"

"Ooh hoo hoo! Did you say turnips?"

Chef Kawasaki waddled up to the turnip stand, holding a basket filled with fresh produce in his stubby arms. "I'll take some!" he declared, setting the basket down.

The boar beamed. "Great! Let's see… so, right now, turnips are going for 102 Bells. Do you wanna buy some? We sell 'em in bundles of ten."

The chef paused. "…B-Bells?" he asked, tilting his head. "Oh, right, that's your money system, right, right. Um… I don't think I have those…" He pulled out a phone from his apron and swiped at the screen. "Hold on, what's the exchange rate here…?" He put away his phone and placed a handful of bills on the counter. "How much will this get me?"

The boar took the bills and slowly counted them out. "Okay, this will get you… eighty turnips!" She ducked behind her stall, took out an armload of turnips, and dumped them into Kawasaki's basket. "Enjoy!"

Kawasaki nearly toppled over under the weight of his newfound goods. "Thank you!" he replied. "Oh, boy… sautéed turnips and carrots for supper. Mmmm-mm!"

"Yep, sautéed turnips and—wait, what?!" said the boar. "Wait, but Gram-Gram said turnips aren't for eating!"

"Yo, Kawasaki!" called Spring Man, waving one of his long arms. "How's it hanging?"

"Hey, Spring Man," waved Chef Kawasaki with a free hand. "Take a look at this!" he declared, proudly presenting his basket of produce. "We'll be eating like kings for quite a while!"

"Ooooh…" The trio marveled at the assortment of treasure in the basket. There was a collection of carrots that split into two roots, an odd triangular pepper that seemed to give off heat, a bushel of ripe red tomatoes with the letter M printed on them, plump-looking berries that none of them recognized, and a case of fruit juice that came from a fruit called the Pinap.

"Luckily for me, all the food stalls are in one place!" continued Kawasaki. "I dunno if it's for competition or 'cause of regulations, but it sure makes things easier for me!"

"Hmmm… you know, I could go for something to eat right about now," said Isaac. "You guys up for something?"

Spring Man and Phosphora nodded. "Yeah, I could go for something," said Phosphora. "As long as it isn't… celery." She wrinkled her nose. "Yecch!"

The other three assistants stared blankly at her. "…Celery?" asked Spring Man. "What's wrong with celery?"

"Gods, it's the worst!" gagged Phosphora. "It's so stringy, and it tastes like sink water, and Viridi keeps serving it as a snack every day! Awful!"

Chef Kawasaki stared at her. "Well, I don't really discriminate," he said. "Vegetables are vegetables."

"No, no, Phosphora's right," said Isaac. "Celery sucks."

"Well, I can assure you, whatever food we get probably won't have celery," said Spring Man. "Now let's get moving! See ya, Kawasaki!"

Chef Kawasaki waved them off. "Make sure to tell me if there's anything you like!" As he called out to them, the basket fell out of his hands, spilling its contents all over the ground. "And make sure to—aw, my basket."

"Now that I think about it," said Spring Man with a teasing grin, "I wonder if they've got celery pizza out here…"

"Don't even start!" said Isaac and Phosphora in unison, their faces turning pale.

"Kidding!"

Back in the mansion, Dr. Wily tiptoed down a flight of stairs, making sure to keep as close to the railing as possible. Once he reached the bottom, he stopped and waited. The room seemed empty, but he still paused and listened for any passersby. From there, he darted to the nearest wall and hid behind a column.

The mad doctor peeked out from behind his cover to scan for anyone else present. Seeing nobody, he shuffled along the wall, keeping as close as possible to any large objects in case he needed to duck for cover.

And just as well, for footsteps echoed from just around the corner. From the sound of them, there was more than one person coming. Wily could see shadows drawing ever nearer, and a voice he couldn't recognize was speaking in a relaxed, but observant manner. But he had no time to ponder who it was. He dove behind the nearest large wooden crate, wincing as a sudden pain made itself known in his back.

The footsteps drew closer and closer. Wily's heart began to pound in his chest. He paused, considering what he was doing. Here he was, one of—no, the most brilliant mind in the world, hiding behind a crate from who even knew! Why was he so afraid?

Because, said another part of his brain, you're sneaking around trying to steal something while the place is crawling with brutes three times your muscle mass. Why didn't you—

The crate suddenly disappeared, lifted away and tossed to the side. Dr. Wily flinched and scampered away, pressing his back to the wall and covering his face with his arms.

A pair of turtle-like creatures, one muscular and wearing sunglasses and the other tall and lanky with regular glasses and light-green hair, were staring quizzically down at the man. Dr. Wily recognized them as Roy and Iggy Koopa, two of Bowser Jr.'s substitutes in battle. He squeaked and crouched closer against the wall.

Roy simply continued to stare at him. His expression was unreadable behind his sunglasses. "What're ya doin'?" he asked.

Dr. Wily found his voice just in time. "Oh, I'm just… doing some Pilates! Yes, that's it! Pilates! Great for lumbar support! Nothing too out of the ordinary, right?"

Iggy tilted his head in confusion. "Pilates?" he repeated. "Behind a wooden crate?"

"Yes, behind a wooden crate," replied Wily hotly. "I was doing just fine until you two came along."

"Hey, you know, I once knew a guy that was into Pilates," said Iggy. "He said it was great for strengthening his core. One time, he tried to do a single leg stretch, and he just straight-up exploded! Bahahaha!"

Roy rolled his eyes as Iggy wiped away at his own. "Hey, wait a minute," said the burlier Koopa suddenly, rubbing his chin in thought. "Ain't you one of those Assist Trophies?"

"Huh? I…" Dr. Wily was a bit taken aback by the question. "Yes, I am. What of it?"

Roy stared fixedly at the scientist for a moment. Then he crossed his arms and huffed. "Hmmph. Ain't even a real fighter, huh…"

"What? What's that supposed to mean?" asked Wily testily.

"You're an Assist Trophy," repeated Roy, as though he was talking to a four-year-old. "You're one of the big bad guys of that robot kid's world, and here you are on the same level as Starfy. You're on the same level as Waluigi!"

"E-excuse me!" Normally, the Koopa's words wouldn't have gotten under his skin, but for some reason, they really seemed to strike a nerve. "Do you know who I am?! I am Doctor Albert Wily, the single greatest genius in all the—"

"Bahahaha!" cawed Iggy, interrupting the mad doctor's ranting. "If you're such a genius, how come all your fancy robots are weak to some of your other robots?"

"I… I…" Wily paused and composed himself. "Oh, please," he said coolly. "I doubt either of you imbeciles would be able to comprehend my genius."

Roy's fist clenched, and for a brief moment, Wily thought he was going to pummel him. He instinctively shielded himself, covering his head with his arms.

But no strike came. Clearly, Roy had decided that Wily wasn't worth the trouble for whatever reason. "Whatever," said the Koopa, crossing his long arms again. "You do you, reject. C'mon, Iggy, let's get outta here." The two Koopas departed the scene, Iggy quietly cackling to himself all the while.

Dr. Wily released the breath he was holding. He suddenly felt very foolish, lying on the ground and being afraid of two teenage Koopas. He calmly stood up and dusted himself off, then, making sure both of them were out of sight, slunk away down the hallway.

As he walked, his thoughts turned to the previous meeting he'd had with Mother Brain and her cohorts. He shuddered to himself as he remembered Ghirahim and Devil's not-so-subtle threats against him. But at the same time, he felt a certain fervent indignation towards his treatment. How dare those two children mock him?! Him! Wily scoffed to himself. They serve a monster who insists on the same strategy over and over again, he thought to himself. No matter. Once I gain control over the world, I'll be able to spread my genius to other worlds as well! And I'll start with that… what did they call it? That Mushroom Kingdom. Then, they'll see. They'll all see!

After a few minutes of wandering and plotting, Dr. Wily at last reached Master Hand's office. He gazed at the door, with a fresh coat of white paint and Master Hand's name engraved on it with gold trim. Even here, the mad doctor could sense a great power coming from the other side.

He automatically reached for the handle, but stopped just as his fingers grazed it. Surely it couldn't be that easy, right? There had to be some way to make sure it wasn't a trap. If only he'd brought some of his tools with him! What to do, what to do…

Slowly, tentatively, he sidled up to the door and knocked with a tap-tap-tap. Nobody answered.

Wily hesitated. That was the only gauge he had to tell if it was a trap. Deciding to take a chance, he approached the door and sloooowly pushed on the handle…

"And just what do you think you're doing, Wily?"

Dr. Wily nearly leapt out of his skin. Zero was standing there, Z-Saber at the ready, staring down at him with a stern expression.

"Meeep! Oh, er, Zero! What a, uh, surprise to see you here!" stammered Wily.

"I should say the same thing," replied Zero, not taking his eyes off Wily for a moment. He stepped forward, and Wily stiffened. "Why were you trying to enter Master Hand's office?"

"Hmm? D—oh! Me? Trying to enter Master Hand's office? Ahahaha! Don't be silly! I was doing no such thing!" As he laughed off Zero's accusations, Wily noticed that his hand was still gripping the handle to the office in question. He quickly yanked his hand away, as though the handle might burn him.

Zero remained unconvinced. Seeing his eyes narrow, Wily nervously adjusted his tie. "There's… there's a street market outside," he began, trying to change the subject. "Why don't you go and spend some time there? You know, treat yourself! Here, if you need money, I'll—"

"Actually… that's not a bad idea," responded Zero. His words were slow and deliberate. "In fact… why don't we go together? After all, you could use the fresh air, out of this stuffy old mansion."

Wily swallowed. "M-me? Ohoho, no, no, no, I…" He hesitated, searching for a decent excuse. "Ye—About that, I—the thing is—you know, I just remembered, I have some extremely important work to do. I need to do some… maintenance on the Wily Capsule! Yes! So surely, you'll understand if I decline your invitation. So sorry. Well, bye for now!" And before Zero could say anything more, Wily fled as fast as his legs could carry him and disappeared around the corner.

Zero frowned. Dr. Wily's actions had only raised, if not confirmed, his suspicions. He stared at the door to Master Hand's office and sighed.

Why didn't you just ask Wily about that night? said a voice in his head, one that sounded remarkably like X. You could've gotten answers!

Oh, come on, said another voice. You saw how he ran! You've heard the stories about him! He wouldn't have said anything anyways. Then we'd have to resort to violence, and who knows where that could've gone? Just hunt him down another time.

Zero pressed his lips together. He put away his Z-Saber and walked away. Whatever Wily was up to, he at least knew that everything was safe.

For now.

"Oh. My God."

Spring Man gaped at the sight of the food court. All the stalls were arranged in a horseshoe shape, spread out across a wide area. There was a small, spritely-looking older man standing at an ice cream stand, a fork-shaped being wearing a chef's hat, a tall bird woman with burgundy colored feathers, another man in a chef's apron wearing a yellow kerchief, and a large tiger prawn wearing a white snapback. Spring Man wiped at some drool forming at the corner of his mouth as he took in the sights and smells.

"Oh my God, Oh, my God," repeated the spring-armed man. He was quite overwhelmed by the selection spread before him. His gaze shot from stall to stall, unsure of where to begin.

Isaac whistled appreciatively. "Lotta stuff's happened since I was gone, huh?"

"Oh, you don't even know," said Phosphora. "They didn't have half of this in the last one."

The blond boy nodded in thought. "Yeah, well, it's nice to see that it actually has decent stuff instead of—"

He stopped short as something caught his eye. "Wait. Oh, oh man. Guys…" He pulled his companions a little closer, as if to share something with them in private. "Guys. Look over there."

"What? What is it?" asked Spring Man and Phosphora in unison.

"There. He's right there!" whispered Isaac, discreetly pointing at a figure in the distance.

"…I don't say anything," admitted Spring Man after a few moments of staring where Isaac had indicated.

"You're gonna have to be more specific," said Phosphora, "'cause there's a bunch of people here, and any—" She, too, stopped short as she spied who Isaac was talking about. "Oh. Oh, gods, no."

"I still don't see 'em," said Spring Man. "What am I lookin' for?"

"He's right there! What, you can't see him? Right there! Next to those guys!" said Isaac. Spring Man followed the boy's gaze, searching for anyone that seemed like they would stand out, until at last, his eyes fell upon who Isaac was excitable referring to.

Standing some distance away were two figures, one with long dark hair wearing red with padding on his forearms and shins, the other blond and clad in a blue tunic with a sword sheathed on his back. But they were not who Isaac was pointing at. Standing next to them was a portly, grinning skeleton wearing a blue hoodie and pink slippers.

"It's him," whispered an awestruck Isaac. "It's Sans."

Phosphora groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. Spring Man, meanwhile, only blinked in confusion for a few moments before his eyes widened in recognition. "Oh! That's Sans? Like, the guy everyone was excited about?"

Isaac nodded so hard, his face became a blur. "Yeah, that's him! People were so psyched to see him! His theme music is so cool!"

"I cannot believe you're getting so excited over meeting a skeleton," muttered Phosphora.

"He's not just any skeleton!" protested Isaac. "His adventure was super popular! A lot of people wanted him to join the tournament! And now he's here! He's actually here! Okay, you guys come with me." The Venus Adept produced a small notebook and pencil from his pockets. "I'm gonna go ask for his autograph!"

"I'm sorry, what?" asked Phosphora. But Isaac had already gone ahead, taking small, furtive steps to meet his skeletal idol. She sighed exaggeratedly as she exchanged a glance with Spring Man. "Alright, come on. Let's rip this bandage off."

"So… Sans, huh?" aske Spring Man, hoping to spawn some conversation. "Phosphora, you seem familiar with him."

"Don't even get me started," groaned Phosphora. "Pit found out about his game when it came out, and he never shut up. 'Oh, you gotta play it, you guys, I've heard it's so cool, blah, blah, blah!' Never ending. Then he figured out Sans tells a bunch of puns. Lemme tell you, ever since that day, I have never known peace."

"Aw, come on, Phosphora," said Isaac, "once you meet him, you'll find out that he's cool. You'll love him, I promise."

Phosphora rolled her eyes in response. "This guy outshone Banjo and Terry with how popular he was. Jeez."

"I dunno, this Sans guy sounds pretty cool," said Spring Man. "I mean, who doesn't love puns? I know I do!"

"See, Spring Man, you get me!" Isaac cheered. "You'll love him, too!"

Phosphora could only throw up her hands in defeat. "You guys are both dorks," she muttered.

"Gee, Phosphora," said Isaac in a slower pace that Phosphora quickly picked up on. "It sounds to me like you've got quite a bone to pick."

Phosphora flinched, fully expecting the pun but still being taken aback. "Oh my gods, please, no. That was the same exact corny line that Pit used when he tried to get me to play it."

"I dunno," said Spring Man, rubbing his chin in thought. "That one was pretty humerus if you ask me."

The girl was horrified. "Don't you start!" she demanded.

"Why, Phosphora!" continued Isaac in feigned surprise. "I never knew you could be so marrow-minded!"

"Rrrrrrrgh!" Phosphora pulled at her crescent-shaped hair, fraying it at the ends.

"It must be pretty bonely," returned Spring Man, "being the only one here that's not into this." He stretched out his arm to give Isaac a high-five.

"Yeah, we've got a skele-ton more where these came from!" said Isaac.

"Shut up," growled Phosphora. "Shut up, shut up, shut up, shutupshutupshutup—"

"Say, look," noted Spring Man. "It seems these jokes aren't reaching her funny bone!"

"That's not even a pun, that's just a thing people say!"

"You may be right," said Isaac with utmost seriousness. "Tibia honest, Spring Man, that particular joke wasn't very skullful at all…"

"I will kill you. I will kill you in your sleep."

"Okay, okay, that's enough," said Spring Man, at last freeing Phosphora from her forty-five seconds of torment. "Are we gonna meet Sans or not?"

"Oh, yeah!" said Isaac, suddenly realizing the three of them were only a few paces away. He shuffled up to the skeleton, who was still talking to the other two. "Uh, excuse me? Sans?"

Sans turned to face Isaac, who noticed that he had a bizarre-looking skull with glowing blue eyes that looked like it belonged to some kind of ancient monster attached to his arm. Behind him, the two individuals shared an amused look.

"Um, uh… first of all, hi," said Isaac. "I-I'm Isaac. Huge fan. I've… I've heard of you. I mean, we all… we've all heard of you. Huge inspiration, honestly. Like, for real. Anyways, I… um… I was wondering if I… that is, only if you want to, I'm not… I…"

Spring Man looked at Isaac sympathetically, while Phosphora looked away, not wanting to see him embarrass himself. The lad in the red shirt covered his mouth with his arm, disguising a laugh as a cough. Sans stared at the stammering, starstruck boy, his gaze vacant and his trademark grin empty.

"So… that is… um…" Isaac's face was quite flushed. "Could… could I…"

"I'm not Sans."

Isaac felt something deep within him fall. "…What?"

"I said, I'm not actually Sans."

Isaac, who had up until now been avoiding eye contact, gape at the false Sans. "Wh—huh?"

Not-Sans sighed as the red-shirted youth collapsed into guffaws. "It's—it's a costume. Here, lemme show you." Not-Sans grasped at the skeletal head and lifted it off, clearly showing it to be some kind of mask.

A girl stood before them, with hazel eyes and straight brown hair that Isaac initially thought was compacted from wearing the Sans mask. But as she shook her head, he realized that no, it was just how it normally looked. She stared at the mask with a look that was both resentful and despondent. "Sorry to disappoint you," she mumbled. "Everyone always wants to meet Sans…"

"Wait a minute," said Spring Man, who was at last recognizing the three. "You guys are those Mii Fighters! Brawler, Swordfighter and Gunner, right?"

The girl, who seemed to be the gunner based on the attachment on her arm, applauded sarcastically. "Congratulations. You're the first person to actually notice us in half a year."

"Come on, give 'em a break," said the blond boy, who was evidently the Swordfighter. "At least they actually knew who you were this time."

"Yeah, and they actually cared to notice you at all," said the last boy, who the assistants identified as the Brawler by process of elimination.

"Whatever," said the Mii Gunner, tossing the Sans mask over her shoulder. "I'd rather wallow in obscurity forever than have to put up with this stupid costume of someone that's not even here."

"Speak for yourself," replied the Brawler. "If I could be popular by wearing a costume of Scorpion or Phoenix Wright or whatever, then send me off to law school and call me Nicky! Am I right?" He held up his hand for a high-five, which nobody delivered on.

The Mii Gunner scoffed. "Oh, puh-leeze. You and I both know that you'd get tired of it in a week, two weeks tops." She turned to scowl at the assistants in front of her. "It's always Sans or Cuphead, or Altair or Nakoruru or Ryo, or even that Vault Guy or whatever he's called. It's never been about who we are, never about our own merits."

The Swordfighter stepped forward. "They just got here, please—"

But the Gunner was on a roll now. "I'm not asking for like, Mario- or Sonic-level attention. Hell, I'd even be okay with Falco or Robin or even Lucario." She glared at her hands, which still wore the white gloves of the costume. She ripped them off and shoved them into her pockets.

"It doesn't matter how many fights you win, or how many buffs you get. No matter how hard you try, nobody ever likes you for you. It's always, 'haha, Sans! Megalovania! Hardy-har-har!' But it's never about who's under the mask. It's never about who you are. It's always about who you pretend to be. I used to be the freakin' Mii Gunner! Now…" She sighed a deep, bitter sigh. "Now I'm just Sans. Or Cuphead. Whichever one they wanna see." There was a long, awkward silence.

Mii Gunner shrugged. "Eh. I guess it could be worse. I could be stuck as an Assist Trophy." She stopped as she suddenly looked at who was standing in front of her, as though she'd just noticed they were there. "Oh. Oh jeez, I'm sorry, you… you were right there…"

"Don't worry about it," said Spring Man cheerfully. "Happens all the time!"

"I guess it could be worse," said the Mii Swordfighter. "We could be stuck dealing with Waluigi all the time."

"Hey! I heard that!" said a passing Waluigi, his arms carrying sacks full of eggplants.

"Whatever," said the Mii Brawler. "Don't you have a tennis racket to mourn? What was its name again? Christine or somethin'?"

"Her name was Charlotte, and her funeral was last week! Not that it matters, since none of you were invited!" He stomped off, muttering under his breath.

"Anyways," said Isaac. "I'm sorry the way things turned out for you. I know Assist Trophies kinda got a raw deal, but I never knew about the Mii Fighters."

The Mii Gunner sighed. "It's… it's fine. I'm just so sick of having to be someone else to get more than an ounce of attention!" A watch beeped from under her arm cannon. "Ah, jeez, that time already? Listen, we gotta go. We've got training to do. See ya around." Together, the Mii Fighters walked off, with the Mii Gunner scooping up the Sans mask and tucking it under her arm.

"…Well, that was rough," said Phosphora after the Miis were out of earshot.

"Kinda feel bad for her now," agreed Isaac. "I hope she'll be okay."

"Hey, you know what'll cheer us up?" said Spring Man in an effort to lighten the mood. "Some refreshments! Follow me!" He marched towards the arrangement of eateries, with his two companions following close behind.

"Do you have something in mind?" asked Isaac.

"Sure do!" nodded the spring-armed man. "Got in on good authority that this is the best pizza place in Diamond City!" He walked up to a wide and dignified-looking tent, with an image of a girl in familiar clothing hanging above the entrance. The smell of hot cheese wafted from within. Next to the opening, there was a small sign that read "Mona Pizza" in gold trim.

As they entered the tent, they were greeted by a stout-looking dog wearing a pink with a red tie. "Hello, and welcome to the Smash branch of Mona Pizza! I'm Joe, and I'll be your waiter today! How many?"

"Ah, just three today," replied Spring Man.

Joe nodded and led them to a table in a booth. As they walked, some of the other patrons pointed at the trio and whispered excitedly amongst themselves. Isaac pretended not to notice, while Phosphora straightened out her hair and looked loftily ahead.

Once they reached their table and sat down, Joe handed them their menus and left to take care of the other customers. "So, what're you guys having?" asked Spring Man.

"Hmmm… The Mona Special seems nice," said Isaac. "Whoa, are those garlic butter breadsticks?"

Phosphora read over her own menu. "Yeah, they also have chicken alfredo, pasta marinara, chicken Caesar salad—oooh, they have Greek chicken gyros!"

Spring Man nodded. "Toldja it was gonna be good. And check out what they have at the bottom of the pizza menu," he added, wiggling his eyebrows.

Both Phosphora and Isaac turned to that section of the menu. "…'Wario's Favorite'?" said Phosphora hesitantly.

"Below that."

"Well, there's nothing else but the—" Both of them stopped short as they read what was printed just below Wario's Favorite.

"Oh, dear lord. Celery pizza is real."

"And it's the cheapest thing on the menu!" said Spring Man, looking between them expectantly.

"We are not ordering that," said Isaac sternly.

The spring-armed man simply shrugged. "You do you. Me, I'm gonna get me one of those celery pizzas. Maybe throw in one with pineapple to wash it down."

Phosphora and Isaac stared at Spring Man as though he'd slapped his own aunt on her wedding day. "Oh, gods," breathed Phosphora. "He's a savage."

"Hey, it's good!" countered Spring Man. "It takes the sweetness of fruit and the savory meaty toppings! Once you put those together…" He kissed his fingers like a chef. "It is, as they say in France, bellissimo."

Phosphora rolled her eyes. "That's Italian."

Spring Man faltered. "Ah—well, the point still stands!"

As they laughed over Spring Man's confusion of Romance languages, Isaac spared a glance out the window. Something in the distance caught his eye. "Hey, hey, guys. Look over here."

"What is it?" asked Spring Man.

"It's not Sans again, is it?" said a worried Phosphora.

Isaac shook his head. "Check out who's right next to us," he said, pointing a finger.

It was a tall and imposing-looking tent, but plenty of people seemed to be going inside. There were plenty of customers, including short figures wearing robes of many colors, all wearing the same white mask, an assortment of talking animals, a tall fish-like creature, and even a few ghostly hat-like beings. There was also a small handful of ordinary looking humans, appearing radically different from each other, but all wearing the same orange shirt and beanie with a blond wig. They all seemed to be congregating towards one figure, one that each of the assistants recognized instantly, wearing the same beanie.

"That's Min Min's noodle shop, isn't it?" asked Isaac. "What was it called, the…" He snapped his fingers trying to remember. "The…"

"Mintendo Noodle House," finished Spring Man.

"Yeah, that. I've overheard Falcon say that their ramen is to die for."

"Sure is!" chirped the spring-armed man. "Their shoyu ramen is heavenly."

Isaac raised a brow. "Really? Remind me to stop by one of these days."

There was another silence among the trio. If one were to ask Spring Man, he didn't really mind it at all. It was a nice, comfy silence, a beautiful thing that he'd rarely get to experience back at home when the ARMS league was in full swing. To say nothing of Ninjara, who had—

"So, Spring Man…" started Phosphora. "Does that bother you at all?"

Spring Man snapped out of his thoughts. Across from him, Isaac shut his eyes and took a deep breath, as if he was bracing for something. "…Does what bother me?" he asked.

"You know," said Phosphora, gesturing in the direction of the noodle shop outside. "That."

Spring Man looked even more confused. "…I'm not, like, allergic to anything there, if that's what you mean."

"Phosphora, no," begged Isaac. "We're not going down this route."

But the Lightning Flash waved off his concerns. "Aw, come on, I'm just curious. It's not gonna hurt him or anything." She turned back to Spring Man. "So, does that like, bother you at all that Min Min got picked over you?"

Isaac winced as Spring Man blinked. "Oh," said the spring-armed man. "Oh," he said again, now fully grasping why Isaac seemed so hesitant. "No, it's fine! It's fine! We're fine! Min Min's cool!"

"See, Isaac?" grinned Phosphora as she nudged the boy. "You had nothing to worry about!"

"I mean, Min Min is cool! I can definitely get why they chose her! I mean, look at her! She's got a dragon arm, and she can kick things… she's cool! We're cool!"

Isaac still remained doubtful. "…Fine. Whatever you say."

At that moment, Joe returned. "Have you all decided on what you'll have?"

The three of them nodded and gave the dog their orders. After he left, they sat and waited for their order.

"…Are you sure you're okay?" asked Isaac.

"I'm fine," insisted Spring Man. "Look, Min Min's cool. She's got noodle arms! Who doesn't love noodles?"

Isaac crossed his arms and huffed. "Dude, just let it go," drawled Phosphora.

The trio continued to wait for their food in thoughtful silence. Spring Man took out his phone and tapped away at the screen, while Phosphora busied herself with people-watching. Seeing nothing else to do, Isaac turned his gaze back out the window. The way the sun shone, he could see Min Min much clearer now smiling as she served another bowl of piping hot ramen to a hungry-looking girl, flanked by Yoshi on her left and Captain Falcon on her right. Air puffed out of his nose in a laugh as he watched Yoshi swallow his meal, bowl and all. Images of Min Min's reveal video came from his memory, the sound of Captain Falcon noisily slurping noodles filling his ears.

Always such a ham, Isaac thought to himself. I'd probably do the same thing if it were me there.

All of a sudden, Isaac began to sorely wish he were there.

A tapping on the back of his head beckoned for his attention. When he turned back inside the tent, Phosphora shushed him immediately, pointing at Spring Man. He, too, was staring out at the Mintendo Noodle House, longing etched deep into his face.

Isaac shot her an I-knew-it look. He cleared his throat. "Spring Man."

The spring-armed man blinked as he returned to focus. "Huh? Oh, um. Is the food here yet?"

Isaac simply sat there, staring at him with a concerned expression. "Are you okay?" he asked again.

For a moment, Spring Man was silent. His gaze flicked between his two companions. At last, he relented. "Okay, you got me," he sighed. "I'm… a little bummed out about it."

"Yeah, I figured," said Isaac, leaning back in his seat. Joe returned with their food, placing a large pineapple-topped pizza in front of Spring Man.

Phosphora sighed. "Okay, Spring. Start from the beginning."

"Okay, so…" Spring Man tapped his fingers on the table. "They had that conference a while ago, the one that said that a fighter from the ARMS League was gonna be added. And they showed everyone there, like, everyone. They showed Ribbon Girl, Master Mummy, Ninjara, Mechanica, Min Min, even the commish. They even showed me! And a lot of people thought that was weird.

"So they say, 'Oh, the new fighter will be revealed in June,' and I'm thinking, 'Hey, if they showed me off as a candidate, then maybe… maybe I got a shot, right?' And a lot of other people were thinking that, too. So then all my fans back home that gave up on my chances, they start coming back out to support me. It's… It was a nice feeling." He gazed wistfully at the ground, taking a bite of pineapple pizza. "Of course, there were a lot of other folks that were saying, 'Oh, Spring Man can't get in! He's an Assist Trophy!'"

"And they were right," said Phosphora. Isaac shot her a disapproving glare.

"No, no, Phosphora's right," said Spring Man, shaking his head. "A lot of people wrote me off 'cause of my current position. But I still had a lot of supporters, saying I was the face of the league. Anyways, the next conference comes, it's the big reveal and…" Isaac and Phosphora waited, knowing exactly what happened next.

"…Well, they showed me, alright," mumbled Spring Man. His eyes were downcast. "I got decked clean in the face. But it wasn't that bad!" he quickly added, seeing the gloom on their faces. "I've taken harder hits before. Here and back at the league.

"So, they went with Min Min, which is kinda what I and a bunch of other people were expecting. And y'know what? That's fair. Totally fair. And y'know what else? I know a lot of those supporters were only rooting for me so one of the other assistants that they really want could have a shot." He glanced pointedly at Isaac, who looked down, unable to meet his spiraled eyes.

"But you know what gets me the most?" Spring Man stared detachedly at the tent walls. "The minute Min Min got in, everyone started saying, 'Oh, of course Spring Man wouldn't get in!' 'He's not interesting, blah, blah, blah.' 'Why would they choose the obvious, boring choice?' It's always that I'm not… that I'm not good enough." He stared down at his pizza, his face uncharacteristically grim. "And you know what the worst part is? …I let everyone back home down."

Isaac and Phosphora were silent. It was the most candid they'd seen him over the course of the tournament. "…Jeez," said Phosphora at last. Her voice was quiet. "I'm sorry, I didn't… I didn't know it hit you that hard."

Spring Man sighed, and he looked much more tired as he did so. "I know I don't get it the worst around here. Far from it. But I've been training all my life to be the best I can be, and seeing all of that get reduced to a joke because I got shafted is just…" The unsaid words hung in the air.

At last, Phosphora spoke up. "Look, Spring Man. I know how bad it must've felt to lose out like that. But you know, you know, the absolute worst thing you can do… is give up."

Spring Man looked at her as she went on. "Like, look at Pit. I wasn't there for that, but I heard the stories. When Medusa took over, and Pit was the only angel left, trapped down there in the Underworld, did he give up? No, of course not. I wouldn't be here if he did. I know you're new here, so this is the first time you've struck out. But… I know this sounds cheesy as hell, but when I first got here, Dr. Wright told me that we've made it too far to throw in the towel now. Isaac, back me up here."

The boy nodded. "Like, you said that you've been training all your life, right? So, like, why stop now? You've got your foot in the door. And all your fans are waiting for you! So you can't give up!"

Spring Man pondered their words. He managed a small smile. "…You're right. Thanks, you guys. From now on, I'm gonna give it a hundred and twenty percent out there!"

"Yeah, you better," nodded Phosphora, "or we won't let you forget it."

Spring Man nodded in return. "Mm-hmm. They don't call me the Comeback King of Spring for nothing!"

"But, seriously, though, you can't give up," stressed Isaac. "You genuinely can't give up."

"Noted," replied Spring Man, tapping the side of his head. "Never gonna let it get to me."

"You can't give up," repeated Phosphora, leaning out of her seat towards Spring Man. "It's okay to feel bad about losing, but it's not okay to give up."

"It's true," added Isaac, mirroring Phosphora's movement. "You can't give up. I won't let you."

"…Okey-doke. Message received," said Spring Man, feeling a bit unnerved. "Won't… I won't give up."

"You better not," said Phosphora. "Or else."

"You can't give up, or else I'll call Ribbon Girl, and she'll probably cry," said Isaac, his face deadly serious.

Spring Man could only nod again.

"You can't give up!"said Isaac, a bit more aggressively.

"You can't give up!" said Phosphora, a lot more aggressively.

"You can't give up!"

"You can't give up!"

"You can't!"

"You can't!"

"Alright, alright, I get it!" shouted Spring Man at last. He was breathing hard, and Isaac and Phosphora were mere inches from his face. "You've made your point. No giving up for me. I get it."

And with that small agreement on morality, Phosphora and Isaac returned to their seats, smiles on their faces. "Great," they said in unison.

"So…" said Spring Man after some seconds of silence. "Anyone up for some celery pizza?"

"Oh, gods, no," winced Phosphora.

"Suit yourself," shrugged the spring-armed man as he pulled the food in question closer. "Bon appetit!" He took a slice, held it up to the light, and took a single, deciding bite.

…

…

…

Spring Man swallowed, an arduous effort. "Oh, man," he gagged. "This was a mistake."

"Told you."

Chapter Text

For some, lunchtime was a time for rest and recuperation, a single moment to de-stress and regain their strength as they prepared for the next battle. For others, lunchtime was a time for socialization, to catch up with old friends, perhaps meet with new friends, or simply to boast about a recent win to those who would listen.

For a certain boxer, lunchtime was decidedly a time to refresh oneself after a series of heated battles. He walked through the cafeteria, somehow holding a tray of food with his green boxing gloves on.

After searching for the right spot, Little Mac finally sat down on a bench, one that was far away from the likes of Wario and King K. Rool. He began to dig into his meal, a poultry pilaf with a side of lentil soup, and blueberry Greek yogurt for dessert.

"Mmm…" He had to hand it to Chef Kawasaki: for as silly and unassuming as he looked, he was a pretty good cook. The meat was surprisingly sweet for how savory it looked, which was certainly helped by the goat butter mixed into the rice. Little Mac smiled to himself as he imagined Doc Louis eating this instead of a chocolate bar for a change.

Woo-wee, Mac! If this is the stuff you eat as a fighter, then sign me up! Ha ha ha ha!

…Come to think of it, Little Mac had heard that Doc was trying to cut back on chocolate and add in protein. Maybe this would be good for him after all! In that case, he should—

"Oh, excuse me! Is this seat taken?"

Little Mac started. A little yellow-furred dog with her fur in a bun was standing there, with what looked like fish on her tray. She was staring at the boxer with big, inquisitive brown eyes.

"Oh! Uh, no, no one's sitting there," said Little Mac. "You can, if you want."

"Okay!" The dog sat down, took out her silverware, and began to take a bite from her fish. Little Mac followed suit, continuing to eat his chicken. The two of them ate in silence.

If he was being honest with himself, Little Mac didn't really mind this at all. He had friends around here, sure, but not all meetups had to involve talking. Sometimes, it was nice to simply sit down and enjoy each other's company. Doc Louis always said that a telltale sign of a good friendship is when people could just hang out together in a comfortable silence. And, wouldn't you know it, here he was, in a comfortable silence with…

With…

Ingrid? Irene?

Oh, no, don't tell me I forgot her name oh jeez come on man it's been almost a year if she tries to talk to me I won't be able to respond come on you idiot what was it what was it what was it

"Excuse me…" came the dog's voice.

oh noooooooo

Little Mac nearly choked on his pilaf, which he tried to disguise with a cough. "Ahem! Uh, um, yes?" asked the boxer, trying to keep his face as neutral as possible.

"If you don't mind me asking, what are you eating, Little Mac?" asked the dog.

Little Mac swallowed. Now he was in trouble. He didn't know this little dog's name, but she knew his name. "It's, um… poultry pilaf with… curry."

The dog smiled. "Ooh, fun!" She turned to her own meal. "I'm having lemon pepper salmon! Apparently, the fish that Chef Kawasaki serves is imported directly from the Animal Forest! Isn't that neat?"

Little Mac could only smile and nod as he racked his brain trying to remember his new companion's name. Was it Ingrid? Or perhaps it was Ivy? Maybe Iris? …Nah, who was he kidding? She didn't look like someone named Iris.

Then who does she look like?! Did her name even start with "I"?

Little Mac silently chastised himself. It wasn't for lack of trying that he forgot. During his boxing career, most of his opponents were so over the top, he could always match a name to a face. It was very much the same situation here in the World of Trophies. In such a bizarre world, the people he met always made a lasting impression. It was impossible for him to forget a face.

…

…Okay, he sometimes mixed up Marth and Chrom, but that was different.

…And, he supposed, he was currently stuck in this situation where he couldn't remember the dog's name.

Speaking of which! What was Little Mac to do about that? He had to do something, and quickly! Maybe… maybe he could text one of his friends and ask! Yeah, that would work!

Little Mac took out his phone and proceeded to fumble with it for a few moments, very much like someone would fumble with a large layer cake while slipping on a banana peel. This was because he had chosen to eat lunch with his boxing gloves on, a decision that he was beginning to regret. But there was no time to take them off now. Time was of the essence!

Why don't you just ask her what her name is? asked a smarter part of Little Mac's brain.

No way! said a different part of Little Mac's brain. If I asked, she would know that I forgot! Plus, it'd just be awkward either way. Now let's see who I can text… The boxer scrolled through his contacts. One of them had to know!

Barbara the Bat? No, she'd retired a long time ago. She wouldn't know.

Kururin? Same boat as Barbara.

Donkey Kong? Mac was ninety percent sure DK couldn't even type.

Mewtwo? He never answered his phone unless it was an emergency.

Waluigi? No way would he help. …Why was he even in his contacts?

At last, Little Mac came to the Wii Fit Trainer. Yes, that was it! She was nice and held yoga sessions on Saturdays. She'd definitely know! Little Mac poked at his phone's screen to type out a message:

Do you know the name of the little dog from the animal forest? Plz hurry

…Once again, Little Mac's decision to wear his boxing gloves came back to bite him.

Dk yuo knjow teh. name of fhe dlkittke doe fron fhe anime doesn't/?

…

…Stupid autocorrect. Okay, maybe if he typed slowly…

"Little Mac?"

The boxer yelped at the sound of his name, much louder than he expected to. Several lunch-goers turned to stare at him with looks of bafflement, irritation, or subdued amusement. To make matters worse, the dog was staring at him, eyes wide in surprise. In that moment, Little Mac wished dearly to sink into the floor.

"Um, are you all right?" asked the dog.

Little Mac stared dejectedly at her. Jeez, why couldn't he remember this one person? And now he looked like an idiot in front of her and all these people. It was times like these where Doc Louis would tell him to simply swallow his pride. Well, no use in letting this drag on. He sighed. "What was your name again?" he asked.

"Oh! My name is Isabelle!" replied the dog. "It's nice to meet you!"

Isabelle. Of course.

Now that the most stressful six or seven minutes of his life had passed, Little Mac could finally continue his meal in peace. He began to finish off his poultry pilaf, with Isabelle doing the same.

A thought suddenly came to Little Mac. "Hey, Isabelle… you were an Assist Trophy in the last tournament, right?"

Isabelle nodded. "Yes, I was!"

Little Mac nodded back. "Yeah, I remember that! You threw those fruits to heal people, right?"

Isabelle beamed up at the boxer. "Mhmm! I remember when the mayor first got that invitation. It was a little scary, seeing all these… interesting people in one place… but I got used to it!"

Little Mac took a spoonful of soup. "I hear that. Back in the WVBA, I met a lot of people. Some of them more… eccentric than others. But when I got picked as an Assist Trophy, hoo boy, lemme tell ya, the people here in Smash would send the guys back home packing."

Isabelle looked surprised. "You were an Assist Trophy, too?"

"Oh yeah, definitely." Little Mac swallowed his soup. "I was picked way back, back when the program first got started in the Brawl tournament."

"The Brawl tournament…" Isabelle repeated. She was staring at Little Mac, her eyes sparkling with admiration.

Little Mac puffed out his chest, partially out of pride and partially to hide his unmitigated glee that Isabelle was looking at him like that. As cute as she was, he had to maintain at least some professionality. "Yeah, I—ahem! I'm pretty sure that was what got the WVBA back in gear."

"Wow…!" Isabelle was gazing at Little Mac, resting her head in her hands in a manner that forced him to swallow a squeal of delight. "I guess you must have—" The shih tzu paused. Something in the distance caught her eye. Her eyes widened in recognition, and she began to wave frantically. "Hey! Hello! Over here! Excuse me!"

"Huh?" Little Mac glanced over at where Isabelle was looking. There didn't seem to be anyone there… Oh, wait, no, there was someone. From this distance, it looked like…

…

Little Mac froze.

…!

Oh, no.

No no no no no NO NO—

"Dark Samus!" called Isabelle. "Come sit with us!"

Little Mac forced Isabelle's arm down. "What! Are! You! Doing?!" he hissed, his eyes wide with fear. "You're inviting Dark Samus?!"

"Of course I am!" chirped Isabelle in reply. "What's wrong?"

"What— ghhh—buh—Are you serious?!" sputtered Little Mac. "It's Dark Samus! 'The Great Poison Given Form'? The cosmic corruption? An intergalactic threat to all we hold dear? Her?"

"Yes!" replied Isabelle, as if nothing was wrong. "She was an Assist Trophy, like us!"

"Guh—?!" Jeez, was she even listening to him? Little Mac pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, look, she— she's dangerous, Isabelle. She tried to corrupt the universe. Samus hates her guts. Even Ridley steers clear of her. Ridley! How bad do you have to be to get Ridley to avoid you?!"

Isabelle seemed to ruminate on the boxer's words. "That may be so," she began, "but look at Ganondorf! He's a cruel, ruthless and unscrupulous warlock with an unspeakable lust for power, and look! He's been here longer than either of us, and he gets along with the others just fine!" She gestured to the man in question, who quietly sat down next to Yoshi.

"Yeah, but Ganondorf isn't made out of space poison," Little Mac retorted. She probably wouldn't last long in the Bronx, he thought to himself. "At any rate," he said, wincing as Ganondorf casually backhanded Yoshi through a wall, "Dark Samus kinda… she gives me the willies."

"Oh, don't worry," replied Isabelle with a wave of her paw. "I know for a fact the Hands dilute her Phazon when she comes here."

"But still, she—" Little Mac quickly shut his mouth. Disaster was about to strike. Dark Samus was approaching their table. "Oh no, oh jeez, oh noooooo—"

"Dark Samus!" said Isabelle, as though meeting an old friend from years gone by. "Come sit with us!"

Dark Samus made no audible response, instead simply sitting down across from Little Mac, who looked like he would rather be anywhere else. In her hands, she held a tray of an unsavory-looking substance, gathered in a large, glowing pile.

Little Mac scooted away from Dark Samus. "Hey, Dark Samus," he said, hoping that a friendly greeting would deter her from shooting him at point-blank range.

Dark Samus simply stared at Little Mac, who was unsure whether or not he should break eye contact. She made a low hissing sound in response.

"So!" said Isabelle, breaking the tense silence. "How have you been, Dark Samus? What're you having?"

Dark Samus growled softly, keeping her gaze on her meal. Slowly, she dipped her arm cannon into the glowing mass on her tray. The moment it touched the goop, the cannon split apart, absorbing the sludge and making a bizarre sound as she did so. The visor on her helmet (or was that her head?) glowed just a bit brighter.

Little Mac tossed away his cup of yogurt. "Well, I've lost my appetite for the next decade."

Beside him, Isabelle quietly put aside what remained of her fish. "Anyways… I've certainly been busy as of late! Mr. Nook has been talking about a new business venture, and he wants me to help him!"

"Izzat so?" said Little Mac, eager to steer the conversation away from the topic of Dark Samus. "What kinda venture is it?"

Isabelle began to explain to a very attentive Little Mac (and a decidedly less fascinated Dark Samus). Off to the side, Waluigi glowered at the three of them with all the malice he could muster. "Waaaah…" he spoke in an undertone.

Starfy, who was sitting right next to him, looked curiously at the man. "Hey, mister, are you okay?" he asked.

"Of course not," Waluigi growled over his shoulder. "Who do they think they are?"

"Who's they?" asked the star creature with a tilt of his head.

Lyn, who was sitting next to Starfy, rolled her eyes. "He's talking about those three over there," she clarified. "You remember Little Mac, right?"

"Oh, yeah!" said Starfy, eyes widening in recognition. "He's one of our friends!"

"Bah!" said Waluigi, glowering into his meal, a whole raw eggplant that, for some reason, had a mustache growing out of it. "Little Mac is no friend of mine."

Starfy looked confused, while Lyn simply rolled her eyes again. "I can't believe that after all this time, you're still jealous of him," she sighed.

"You're darn right I am!" responded the purple-clad man. "I had way more requests than that two-bit Joe Yabuki! But look where he ended up, with a shiny new gig and a spot on the roster, while I'm stuck here in the reject pile with the starfish!"

Lyn gave Waluigi a dirty look, while the star in question simply glanced dejectedly down at his food. "Hey, leave Starfy alone!" she snapped. "It's not his fault you didn't get invited! And who said you could sit here, anyway?"

"…Phosphora kicked me off her table," admitted Waluigi. "And Daisy threw a plastic knife at me." He picked up his eggplant and took a bite out of it, skin and all. "So how's the gacha life going for you?" he asked through a mouthful of the vegetable.

Lyn bristled. "It's going fine," she said through gritted teeth. "It's a hard life, but we manage. And what about your Mario Kart Tour? Isn't that a gacha as well?"

Waluigi sneered. "It's a living, I suppose," he remarked.

Starfy looked even more confused as he glanced between the two. "What's a gacha?" he asked.

Lyn's face darkened, while Waluigi's scowl deepened. She took a deep breath. "Can I give you some advice, Starfy?" said the green-haired woman. "If someone comes to you with an offer to star in a gacha game, turn and run away. Don't make the same mistake I did."

Starfy nodded slowly. "Okay…"

On the other side of the cafeteria, Isabelle was finishing her exposition on Tom Nook's latest business venture. "You see, Mr. Nook only seems like a cold, ruthless businessman. He's just very insistent about his finances!"

"And he doesn't even charge interest?" said Little Mac. "Where has this guy been all my life?" The three of them sat in silence.

Little Mac coughed. "So, uh…"

Isabelle paused to look at him. "Hmm?"

"I was wondering if you… wanted to… hang out after this? 'Cause, y'know, we're all promoted Assist Trophies here…?"

"Oh!" said Isabelle, realization dawning on her as a blue-and-white exclamation point materialized above her head. "I'd love to!" she replied, her smile as bright as the sun.

Oh my god, thought Little Mac, biting back a high-pitched squeal.

A small growl caught the boxer's attention. He looked up to see Dark Samus, her plate empty, staring straight at him. She seemed to be waiting for something.

Little Mac shivered unconsciously. "Umm—"

"Oh, Dark Samus!" cut in Isabelle. "Would you like to join us, too?"

"I'm sorry, what—"

But to Mac's dismay, Dark Samus made a low, almost agreeable rumble, as if she had simply been waiting for a proper invite. Isabelle clapped her paws in delight. "Then it's settled," she declared. "The three of us are going to have an exciting day out!"

Dark Samus merely drummed her fingers on the table, while Little Mac gave an exuberant cheer… at least, as exuberant he could manage with an alien made of poison right beside him.

This was clearly going to be a very long day.

The three assistants sauntered through the halls, Isabelle taking the lead, Little Mac right behind her, and Dark Samus bringing up the rear. As they passed the kitchen, Chef Kawasaki trudged out the door, mopping his brow. "Jeez…" he sighed, stretching his back and slumping into a chair. "Two meals down, one to go. After that, the day is done, and I'll have no one to cook for but me!" He noticed the trio of fighters standing in front of him. "Oh, hey, Isabelle," he greeted with a wave of his stubby hand.

"Hello, Mr. Kawasaki!" greeted Isabelle, waving her paw in return. "How are you today?"

"Exhausted as usual, but what else is new?" shrugged the cook. "We've got seventy-six of you guys, plus the other assistants, plus more fighters getting invited. Those hands are working me down the bone! …I mean, I don't actually have any bones, but you get what I mean."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," said Isabelle sympathetically. "If you ever feel like you need any, I'd be glad to help you in the kitchen! After all, I've been in charge of a whole town before, so managing a kitchen won't be any problem for me!"

Behind her, Little Mac nodded. "And if it means anything, I can make a mean cup of ramen! Oh, and by the way," he added, "I really liked today's poultry pilaf!"

Chef Kawasaki smiled wearily. "Thanks, Mac. I worked really hard on that one." He slowly got up from his chair. "And hey, if you ever decide to stop in and help me out—and I'd really prefer if you did— I'd be happy to… to…"

The cook's face had gone from a tired but still healthy orange to a sickly pale apricot as his eyes fell on Dark Samus, who was watching him intently. To an outside observer, it looked like the doppelganger was simply observing him as an entomologist would observe a ladybug crawling on a blade of grass, but to Kawasaki's tired brain and wildly-running imagination, it looked very much like Dark Samus was gazing at him as a hungry lioness would stare at a newborn gazelle. That is, if the lioness was made of a radioactive mutagen and was bent on turning everything else into said mutagen. Basically, the chef was scared spitless.

"Uhh… Wow, look at the time," said Kawasaki, slowly backing away. "I better get going! I need to go… peel some… milk!" And with that lame excuse, the chef sped away as fast as his feet could carry him.

Isabelle turned to Dark Samus. "Okay, one thing we'll need to work on is being more approachable. Like, more friendliness and less… intimidation."

Dark Samus simply peered at the shih tzu but otherwise made no comment.

"Hey, guys, come look," said Little Mac, glancing out the window. "There's a news crew outside."

Isabelle and Dark Samus peered out the window. Just as the boxer said, a blue-and-white satellite truck was parked outside, just in front of the fountain. Two mushroom-headed creatures were standing around it, one of them holding a camera to snap photos, the other talking with Mario and Princess Peach. Above them, a bespectacled turtle-like creature riding a cloud with a face on it was holding a broadcasting camera, taking in the sights of the mansion. From what the assistants could see, both the camera and the truck had the same symbol printed on them: a stylized pair of glasses and microphone above a cloud, with the letters MKTV to the side.

"Oh, Mario Kart TV?" said Isabelle, immediately recognizing them. "I didn't expect to see them all the way out here…"

"Well, I guess it's to be expected," shrugged Little Mac. "I got here on some interdimensional subway train, so it's prolly that—wait, how do you know these guys?"

"Oh, I went racing with Mario a couple years ago," answered Isabelle with a wave of her paw.

"Oh. Well, I guess that's—" Little Mac blinked as he did a double take. "Wait, you went racing with Mario?!"

Isabelle looked up at him. "Hmm? Oh— oh, yeah! I guess I never told you about that, huh… See, look!" She took out a small photo from her pocket and showed it to Mac.

"Huh…" Sure enough, it was a photo of Isabelle, riding a motor scooter with a light green body, racing alongside Princess Peach and Yoshi. "I never took you as the racing type, Isabelle."

"Well, what can I say?" said Isabelle with an impish shrug. "I do love my town, but even I need a break sometimes! …Actually, let me show you something! Follow me!"

The shih tzu took off, with the boxer and the alien trailing behind her, leading them down several flights of stairs, out the door and into the garden. Once there, Isabelle reached into her pocket and took out what looked like a perfectly normal green leaf with a hole at its edge. She let it go, and the moment it hit the ground, there was a puff of smoke, and in its place was the same scooter from Isabelle's photo, with a light green and white body, and images of leaves and fruit printed on the white segments.

Little Mac's eyes bugged out of his head. "Holy—! What is that?!"

"It's my City Tripper!" chirped Isabelle. "Mario gave it to me as a welcome gift when I first arrived in the Mushroom Kingdom. Back home, there's not really a lot of room to drive. But out here…!"

Without another word, Isabelle hopped on the scooter, turned the ignition, and was off like a rocket! "Woo-hoo! Go, Isabelle, go!" called Little Mac as she sped away.

Isabelle turned a corner and pushed lightly on the gas. She shifted her weight so that she was crouching over the handlebars and leaned back, letting the front wheel lift up off the ground. And to complete the scene, Isabelle outstretched her arms, letting them catch the breeze as she drove.

It was the sickest thing Little Mac had ever seen.

To Isabelle's right, there was a pile of spare parts and plywood, arranged to form a primitive ramp. She smiled to herself. Perfect.

The shih tzu slammed her foot on the gas as she turned towards the ramp. The wind roared in her ears, drowning out the sound of Little Mac cheering. She went up the ramp, sailing into the air…! As she flew, she leapt off the seat of the City Tripper and posed, pumping a fist into the air as musical notes spawned around her, the sun glinting off her vehicle.

Little Mac whooped and hollered as she landed. Even Dark Samus was observing her with some interest. Isabelle turned back around, went back up the ramp, and went flying off again, spinning her scooter around as she waved to no one in particular. "Do more! Do some more!" cheered Little Mac.

Isabelle was happy to oblige. She performed every trick she knew, both on the ground and in midair. High chair wheelie! Switchback head stand! Shrunk Funk Shuffle! The world-famous Akira slide! Mac had only really seen such motorcycle tricks on television, so it was quite a thrill to see them live, and performed by a cute little dog, no less!

In the air, she mixed things up a bit, performing tricks that didn't even originate from her world. The Brick-Buster Jump! The Twinkle Star! The Cobra pose! The creatively named but still legendary Show-Me-Ya-Moves!

At last, Isabelle came to a stop in front of Little Mac and Dark Samus, doing a sick donut as she did. The boxer clapped his gloved hands in almost childlike delight. Even Dark Samus was applauding, albeit in a slower, more deliberate manner. "That! Was! Siiiick!" yelled Mac.

The shih tzu looked bashful under Little Mac's praise. "Oh, that was nothing special, just some stunts I learned in my downtime… But you, Mac, you're a professional! You must have done plenty of cool stuff during your career! And at only seventeen, too!"

Mac scratched the back of his head. "Aw, c'mon, I haven't done that much cool stuff… at least, not as cool as racing in space with Mario. I mean, all I did was fight a bunch a guys, working my way up to the top of the WVBA… then fought 'em again, up to and including an eight-hundred-pound gorilla…"

…

"...Actually," said Little Mac, "lemme show you something."

"To look sharp, every time you shave!" hummed Little Mac as he walked."To feel sharp, and be on the ball. Just be sharp…"

"That's a nice song," said Isabelle as she followed the boxer. "Where'd you hear it?"

"Oh, I heard it on—" Little Mac paused. "I… don't remember, actually. It just… sounds familiar, I guess. But, hey, we're here! Lemme get the door."

The trio had arrived at Little Mac's dorm, the door to which the boxer had opened. It was modestly decorated, with the necessary bed, desk, chair, dresser, and mini-fridge, with moderate sea-green wallpaper. A pair of boxing gloves were hung around the doorknob, and a championship belt was displayed in a glass case, just across from his bed.

"Oh!" said Isabelle. "Is that the belt from when you beat Mr. Sandman?"

"Actually," replied Mac, "it's from when I beat Mr. Dream."

"Mr. Dream?" asked Isabelle, tilting her head. "I can't say I've heard of him. Who is that?"

"Aw, he was one of the older champions from waaay back." explained the boxer. "He's retired now. Look, it's still got the old logo on it, see?"

"Ooooh…" Isabelle observed the belt a bit more closely. Sure enough, the year 1990 was engraved in tiny lettering at the bottom. "What was that fight like?" she asked.

Little Mac grinned. "Oh, man, that's a story and a half. Alright, so, picture this. It's a chilly day in September. I'd just made Super Macho Man kiss the canvas, and from what I hear, the next guy's a real juggernaut. So I hop into the ring, Doc is cheering me on, cameras flashing, when suddenly…"

And so, Mac went on, delighting Isabelle with tales of his toughest trials in the WVBA, from his first match with King Hippo, to many, many matches with Bald Bull, to his final showdown with Mr. Sandman.

"…And to this day, he's still more memorable as Soda Popinski!" concluded the boxer as Isabelle applauded. "So then I—hey, what're you doing?"

While Mac was telling his stories, Dark Samus had been busying herself by rooting through Mac's mini-fridge. She plucked out a bottle of ice water and gazed at it, tilting the bottle to watch the liquid move inside.

Isabelle looked nervous. "Are you… are you thirsty?" she asked.

Dark Samus gave no reply, but continued to stare at the bottle.

"Uhhhh…" Little Mac hesitated. "You can have it, if… if you want."

The doppelganger was still. Then, without warning, her arm cannon split apart as it had earlier, sucking in the water, bottle and all. The bottle made a crunching sound as it was absorbed into the alien. As a coda, the cannon spat out the plastic cap, which landed on the ground and promptly melted.

"...Okay."

Some distance away from that sordid scene, Dillon sat on the roof of the mansion, gazing up at the sky. The sun was no longer as high up as it once was, and the sky was beginning to turn orange.

A noise behind the armadillo alerted him to a new presence approaching. He glanced over his shoulder to see Samurai Goroh trudging up the stairs to the roof. He made eye contact with Dillon and sneered. "So, you're up here, too?" asked the samurai.

Dillon puffed air out of his nose, but made no further comment.

Samurai Goroh frowned. "What's with the silent treatment, huh? I asked you a question!"

Dillon said nothing. Of course he was up here. It seemed, he noted, that Goroh was not the sharpest knife in the drawer.

"Ohh, I see how it is," grumbled Goroh. "You think you're better than me, eh? Think you're too good to talk to the others 'cause you're new and in vogue, huh? Well, lemme tell ya something, getting one gig a couple years ago doesn't make you better than anyone else!"

Dillon refused to dignify that with a response.

The samurai huffed. "Y'know, you might seem popular right now, but believe me, that won't last long. I've seen your type before. Yet another colorful talking animal. Not like that Sonic guy, the mascot-type that appeals to youth culture. Your type is different. You guys don't get a lot of exposure, so you end up forgotten. Now, people like me, on the other hand, we're built to last. We might not get consistent gigs, but people still remember us. Guile, Lyn, Shovel Knight… hell, even that Isaac kid— and, of course, me—we're the ones this company is built on. So don't go getting a swelled head just 'cause you're all relevant and stuff."

The armadillo had long tuned him out, pulling his hat over his eyes.

"I'm telling you this because—wait a sec." He paused. "Maybe… maybe you're not being all high-and-mighty, after all. Maybe…" A grin crept up Goroh's face. "Maybe you're just shy because you're meeting a real all-star such as me! Yeah, that must be it!" exclaimed the man, adjusting his pince-nez glasses. "Well if that's the case—"

A tugging feeling in his back stopped the man's rambling. Samurai Goroh's eyes widened as his body began to glow. He floated up, up, up for a few seconds, and disappeared in a brilliant burst of light. There was no sound except for the wind.

Finally, thought Dillon. Some peace and quiet.

When Samurai Goroh opened his eyes, he wasn't sure what he was expecting. After all, he was currently residing in the World of Trophies, a mysterious, extraordinary realm at the center of the multiverse, known for being a world where anyone could appear and anything could happen!

But it was still a mild surprise for the man when he found himself standing on a large green platform with a red-and-white ball depicted in the center.

"Hey! Over here!"

Samurai Goroh turned to the source of his rather rude awakening. A turtle-like creature riding a vehicle with a clown's face was looking up at him in a scrutinizing manner. Samurai Goroh immediately recognized him as Bowser Jr.

"You're that samurai geezer, right? Help me beat that dolt, Wolf!" demanded the turtle as he pointed behind the samurai.

Bowser Jr. was pointing at a wolf with an eyepatch over his left eye and a purple jacket, wielding a futuristic blaster with a nasty-looking claw at the end. From the glare on his face, it seemed that this "dolt" with a creative name did not take too kindly to being referred to as such. He stretched out his claws and brandished his weapon.

Samurai Goroh grinned as he took out his katana. "Hmmm… I suppose I can lend some of my services this time." He slashed his weapon in a threatening gesture. "Time to cut you down to size, doggie!"

Bowser Jr. hopped excitedly in his vehicle. "Yeah! Go get 'em, Takamaru!"

Samurai Goroh halted dead in his tracks. "...What?"

The Koopa prince glared at him impatiently. "I said, go get 'em. That means attack, ya dope."

"No, but like, what'd you call me after?"

Bowser Jr. stared blankly at him. "I called you Takamaru. That's your name, right?"

Samurai Goroh frowned as he faced his summoner. "Uh, no. I'm Samurai Goroh of Red Canyon, the greatest racer in the galaxy and beyond!"

"…Never heard of you."

"Wh-What?!" Goroh looked flabbergasted. "Aw, come on, you must have at least heard of me! The pilot of the Fire Stingray? Champion of the F-Zero Grand Prix for two straight years? I got mentioned in Ms. Nintendique's Hottest Men Alive! Granted, three of the four votes I got there were jokes, but—oof!"

The world would never hear the rest of Goroh's sentence, for Wolf, tired of his rambling had jumped and slashed him in the back with his claws. He stumbled and fell on his side, forcing Bowser Jr. to leap back.

Wolf smirked as he watched Samurai Goroh struggle to get up. "So, is this nobody gonna keep bragging, or are we gonna have an actual match?" he asked no one in particular.

Samurai Goroh angrily got up, adjusted his glasses, and pointed his sword at the canine. "Alright, bucko! You want a fight?! Well, now I'll really slice you into ribbons! Here I come!"

The battle raged on, with neither side showing any mercy. Bowser Jr. used plenty of tools in his Junior Clown Car, with Samurai Goroh cutting away at the canine mercenary. But Wolf refused to cave, choosing to go all out in his attacks and picking up any item he could to defend himself. He even managed to get a fair share of solid hits on Goroh.

Samurai Goroh staggered to his feet as he stared down Wolf. The stage might have been moving, but he could still win! He wasn't going to give up that easily!

Suddenly, the crowd gasped as a dazzling light filled the arena, forcing the competitors to shut their eyes. When the light dimmed, there was now a rainbow-colored ball split by two perpendicular lines floating above the stage. It seemed to overflow with cosmic energy as it passed over their heads.

"A Smash Ball!" shouted Samurai Goroh. "You're done for now!"

He leapt up to slash at the orb. He may have the reputation of a bumbling oaf, but he was going to prove them all wrong today! Very soon, he would prove himself to be the greatest racer, and in fact, the greatest warrior in all the worlds! Just stand back and let him handle this! …Ah, look! It seemed like both Bowser Jr. and Wolf were standing back to give him the spotlight! Perfect! Now he could win the day!

As he brought down his katana on the artifact, he noticed something a little… off about it. It certainly looked like an ordinary Smash Ball, but something didn't seem quite right. Hmmm…

…Ah! That's it! The lines were switched around! This was not a true Smash Ball, but the new Fake Smash Ball introduced this tournament!

…

…

Time seemed to slow down as sudden comprehension dropped on him like a stone.

"Oh, cr—"

Samurai Goroh felt an abrupt, searing pain spread over him before his vision cut to black.

The dull thud of Samurai Goroh hitting the rooftop floor woke Dillon from his slumber. He turned and saw the man, his vest and pants burnt and tattered, lying on his back.

"So how'd that go, Mr. Company Mainstay?" drawled the armadillo.

"Shut up."

"So, whaddya wanna do now?"

Little Mac, Isabelle, and Dark Samus were meandering down the hall, not going anywhere in particular. The sun was beginning to dip towards the horizon, and the sky was slowly darkening. Some of their fellow fighters passed them by, chatting amongst themselves about their previous matches.

As they walked, they encountered Knuckle Joe, a fresh limp in his stride. He glanced up at the trio and gave a weary smile. "Well, look who it is. The champion of the WVBA himself," he panted.

Little Mac beamed as he knelt down to bump Joe's fist. "Oh, 'sup, Joe! You still here?" he asked.

"Sure am!" replied Knuckle Joe. "I'm one of the essentials, after all!" He stood up a little straighter, but suddenly winced as he clutched at his side.

"Oh, goodness! Are you all right?" said Isabelle worriedly. Upon closer inspection, Knuckle Joe was in worse shape than at first glance. There were a few singed threads in his bodysuit, his normally spiky blond hair was matted and stained with dirt, his bandana was tattered at the ends, and several burn marks on his face. But in spite of his injuries, he still gave a fatigued grin, as though this was just another day on the job for him. Which it was, when they stopped to think about it.

"It's alright, I'll be fine," said Knuckle Joe. "Just had a rough couple of matches with Ridley 'n DK. I'll just have Dr. Mario patch me up! ...So, you're a fighter now, huh?"

"Yup!" said Little Mac proudly. "All three of us are now. Me, Isabelle, and Dark Samus."

"Mm." Knuckle Joe edged away from Samus' doppelganger. "That must be nice, getting to tussle with all of those superstars…"

"Yeah, but what about you, Knuckle Joe?" asked Isabelle. "How are you holding down the fort? The others are treating you okay? Everyone's still as upbeat as I remember them, right?"

For a brief moment, Knuckle Joe looked even more spent and worn than he had previously. "I… I should go. Don't wanna risk making these injuries worse, after all." He hobbled off, scratching at his headband along the way.

Little Mac crossed his arms and sighed wistfully. "Yeah, I remember those days. Me and him, we used to be super close. He sure seemed in a hurry, though…"

"Well, it does make sense. He was pretty badly hurt," put in Isabelle.

"Pretty badly hurt…" repeated Little Mac. "Y'know, back when I— oh, hey! Hey! Goroh!"

The boxer was waving at Samurai Goroh, who was plodding along across their path some distance away, his clothes torn and burnt. Upon noticing the trio, his face contorted with anger as he shot them a rude gesture. He then stomped away, grumbling under his breath.

"…Wow. Okay then," said a stunned Little Mac. Isabelle seemed taken aback, while Dark Samus simply gazed after the man, as though contemplating if he would make a decent meal. Based on the irritated-sounding hiss she gave off, she evidently determined otherwise.

"Hmmm…" Isabelle put a paw to her chin in thought. "Can I ask you a question, Little Mac? …When you were an Assist Trophy, were they able to get hurt at all?"

"I… huh. No. No, they weren't, actually," answered the boxer. "Back then, most of us were invincible… except Starfy and that guy riding a cloud, for some reason."

"Aha!" said Isabelle. "Earlier we saw Knuckle Joe looking beat up. You saw how tired he looked, right? And now Samurai Goroh is in a bad mood because he got beat up!" She invited the two of them closer for a huddle. "What we have here is a classic case of low morale!"

"Low morale…" repeated Little Mac. A gloved hand rose to stroke his chin. "Whaddya think we should do?"

Isabelle gave a sly wink. "I've got just the idea. But I'll need your help…!"

The sun had at long last ended its journey across the sky, the darkness of night beginning to take over. The Assist Trophies had just finished off their dinner, and were now relaxing in the lounge now that matches were done for the day. In particular, Lyn was relaxing and making idle chit-chat with Phosphora, Isaac, and Krystal over some snacks: some Sinnohan Old Gateau that Phosphora had "borrowed" from Chef Kawasaki's kitchen.

"And they told me, with a straight face, 'Oh, you can't be in this one, but don't worry, we'd love to have you on board for a sequel if we get to make one!'" Krystal rolled her eyes. "I mean, honestly! 'If'?!"

"Oh, tell me about it," agreed Phosphora. "At least they left the door open for a sequel."

"At least you're getting the consideration at all," added Isaac. "Some of us haven't been on a real adventure in a while."

Lyn gazed sympathetically at the boy. "Oh, don't feel too bad, Isaac. If it's anything, your appearance here made plenty of noise among your fans."

"Honestly, Lyn," sighed Phosphora as she took another slice of Gateau, "you're so lucky. You're one of the super-popular ones, so you get to appear in everything."

"Oh, come on, Phosphora, I'm not that popular," responded Lyn, her ears turning pink. "And I certainly don't appear in everything."

"Now wait a moment," cut in Krystal. "If I recall correctly, you placed quite highly on that poll some years ago, right?"

"Well, yeah, but that was—" Lyn pulled a face as though someone had shoved a dead rat into her face. "That was for a gacha game."

Phosphora shrugged. "Hey, popularity is popularity. The fans still like you, don't they? Heck, if I could…" She paused, thinking about the implications of her words. "Nah, who am I kidding. I wouldn't be caught dead in a gacha."

Isaac shot her a teasing look. "Nice save," he smirked.

Phosphora lightly smacked him on the back of his head in response. "Oh, be quiet, flat-earther."

"Waaah!"

"Oh, hell, no."

Waluigi, with his mustache as crooked as ever, stomped into the lounge. He sneered down at the quartet as he approached. "Heard you losers were talking about who's the most popular."

Krystal recoiled at the lanky man's sudden intrusion, while Phosphora, Isaac, and Lyn wore identical faces of revulsion. "Yes, we were," said Lyn, knowing full well where this was going to go. "What about it?"

"Ha!" smirked Waluigi. "What would you D-listers know about popularity? After all, we all know that I've got the rest of you beat in that regard."

Lyn was unimpressed. "Uh-huh." She turned back to the others. "So, like I was saying, Isaac, your inclusion as an Assist Trophy here made quite an impact here. It's not a stretch to say that you'd be first in line for the next one."

Isaac looked hopefully up at Lyn. "Do you really think so?" he asked.

"Oh, puh-leeze," interrupted Waluigi, using Isaac's head as an armrest. "You're seriously advocating for this loser?"

"Yes," said Lyn purposefully, "I am. And who knows? Maybe he could end up with plenty of new adventures under his belt, just like Little Mac."

Waluigi's scowl deepened at mention of the boxer's name. "Hmph! You mean one new adventure. After that, he went straight back to obscurity like those space animals! But of course, he's the one that gets the invite…"

Krystal glowered at the lanky man. "Excuse you! I am not obscure!"

Waluigi sneered down his nose at the vixen. "Oh, really? Well, then, Miss Fan Favorite, why didn't you show up for Fox's newest mission, eh? The big return of Team Star Fox after so long. All that fanfare, pageantry, and ceremony, but where were you?"

Krystal could only respond with a flare of her nostrils and bitter, fuming silence. Waluigi smirked triumphantly as he snatched a slice of Gateau out of Isaac's hand. "See what I mean? And you weren't even important enough to be in that Starlink Initiative thing. D-Lister. Unlike me."

Phosphora had had enough. "Oh my gods, would you buzz off already?" she growled. Electricity danced dangerously around her fingertips. "You can't sit with us."

Isaac glared up at the lanky man. "And get your arm off me," he added, swiping at Waluigi as though he were a mosquito buzzing around his head in the dead of night. That is, if the mosquito was particularly conceited and disgruntled and was just really greasy.

"Hey, I'm just telling the truth," shrugged Waluigi, taking a bite of Gateau. "Facts are, most of you are one-and-done. Well, maybe not her," he added, glancing at Lyn. "She's one of those—ugh—swordfighters, so she'll probably get a free pass. But the rest of you are all second-rate washouts! Unlike me, of course. I—"

Waluigi's boasting was cut short by a knock at the door. For a brief moment, he thought he saw relief wash over the faces of the four assistants he was disparaging. "I'll get it," said Isaac, eager to get away from the purple-clad man's taunts. He got up and jogged towards the door to open it. "Hey, how can we assist y—" The words stopped dead in their tracks as he laid eyes on who had knocked.

Little Mac stood in the doorway, wearing a huge grin. "'Sup, ya big dope," said the boxer.

"Mac!" cried Isaac, embracing him like he would a brother. He turned back to the others. "Guys, it's Little Mac! Mac is here!"

"Little Mac? Is that him?" The other assistants rose to get a better view, rushing towards the door once they confirmed that it was indeed Little Mac. In doing so, they pushed past Waluigi, leaving him alone by the couch with the leftover Old Gateau.

"Little Mac!" exclaimed Lyn, who had also moved in for a hug. "It's been too long! You look so good! Getting that promotion must've done wonders for you!"

"Hell yeah, they did!" nodded Little Mac. "Don't know if you noticed, but I grew almost a foot!" He looked around at the lounge's decor. "Man, this place has changed since I was gone…"

"Yeah, a lot's changed since you got promoted," said Isaac. "Oh, yeah! Lemme introduce you! This is Phosphora, and Krystal!"

Little Mac stepped forward to shake their hands, a less difficult task than he imagined with his boxing gloves on. "It's nice to meet you, Little Mac," said Krystal with a smile. "We've heard many things about you." Behind her, Waluigi crossed his arms and flopped down on the couch.

The boxer scratched the side of his head. "Ah, but I bet—" He stopped, suddenly remembering something. "Oh, yeah! Isabelle, get in here!"

At mention of her name, Isabelle hopped into the doorway. "Hello, everyone!" she announced with a wave of her paw.

"Isabelle!" This time, everyone went in for a hug, save for Krystal, who wasn't quite familiar with the dog yet, and Waluigi, who continued to crossly sit on the couch.

"It hasn't been the same around here without you, Isabelle," said Lyn as she broke away from the hug. "You really kept us afloat when you were here. Especially during the second year… Gods, that was a nightmare."

Isabelle held her arms behind her back, shifting her weight from side to side. "Aw, really? I'm really glad you miss me that much… Oh! Speaking of which… Dark Samus!"

"Wait, wh—"

On cue, Dark Samus drifted into view, preferring to float in the hallway rather than walk right in as Little Mac and Isabelle had. The mood of a joyful, gladsome reunion promptly faded as everyone tried to creep away from the doppelganger. Dark Samus simply floated there, quietly observing everyone in the room.

"You can come in if you want," said Isabelle, who ignored the uneasy faces behind her. "Don't worry, she's almost harmless!"

Receiving the invitation, Dark Samus hovered into the lounge. True to Isabelle's word, she simply sat in a chair and kept her gaze fixed on a bird just outside the window.

"I… see," said Lyn, who made sure to give the creature a wide berth. She wasted no time steering the subject back to happier matters. "So, what brings you three here?" she asked.

"Waah! Probably came to gloat," scoffed Waluigi.

"Whuh? Oh, hey, Waluigi," said Little Mac, awkwardly waving at him. "Didn't see ya there at first. How's life been treatin' you?"

Waluigi simply huffed and turned away, munching on what was left of the dessert. Phosphora simply rolled her eyes, while Isaac exasperatedly crossed his arms. "Aw, c'mon, Waluigi, don't be like that. They're our friends, remember?"

"Hmph!" snorted the purple-clad man, resting his chin on his hand. "That little shrimp is no friend of mine! Stupid cheap Rocky knockoff…" As he reached for the last of the Old Gateau, a beam of electricity shot out and snatched the treat right out of his gloved hand. "Waaah?! What the—?!"

The beam retracted back towards its owner, Dark Samus, who picked up the Gateau and peered at it. Her arm cannon split apart for the third time that day, absorbing the goodie like a vacuum. She lowered her head at Waluigi and made a low rumbling sound, as though daring him to do something about it.

Much to Waluigi's dismay, everyone laughed. Even Dark Samus let out a series of short, coughing… sounds that somewhat resembled laughter. "Oh, ha ha. Very funny. So I guess you did come to rub it in after all, didn't you?" he asked.

"Actually, yeah. What's the occasion?" asked Phosphora. "Most of the fighters don't really come here unless it's to either complain or ask for a favor."

"Weeell…" began Isabelle, a gleeful grin creeping up her face. "Little Mac, Dark Samus and I all pooled our resources to get you guys a little something!"

That definitely took everyone by surprise. Even Waluigi's scowl disappeared, replaced by a skeptical raise of his eyebrow. "Wait, seriously?" asked Isaac.

Little Mac nodded. "It was mostly Isabelle's idea, but we all pitched in some! Go on, show 'em!"

Isabelle reached into her pocket and pulled out what looked like an everyday leaf with a hole at the edge. She dropped it on the ground, there was a puff of smoke, and in the leaf's place was an enormous gift basket filled with various goodies, treats, and other such beneficial items. The entire presentation was wrapped in cellophane, with a lovely green satin bow at the top.

The assistants' jaws dropped as they stared. They were all rendered speechless. "Wh-wh—what is this?" asked Krystal.

"It's a gift basket!" replied Isabelle. "I figured you might need a little pick-me-up, so I worked with my two little helpers—" she gestured at Mac and Dark Samus— "to find out what you might need!"

"Most of this was Isabelle's handiwork, but I managed to get some of the little details in," said Little Mac. To his side, Dark Samus' visor glowed just a bit brighter.

"Just think of it as a morale booster!" explained Isabelle, beaming brightly. "Because I know some of the others might not show it, but we really do appreciate what you do."

For a moment, the assistants were silent, staring at the basket with awe. Nobody knew quite what to say. At last, Lyn broke the silence. "Isabelle, this is…" She paused for a moment, and it was noted among everyone present that her eyes were shining. "This is… this is beautiful, Isabelle. Thank you. Thank you all so much!"

Isabelle looked delighted while Little Mac's face turned pink. "Aw, I'm happy you like it! We worked really hard on it!"

"Yeah, I can tell!" said Phosphora, admiring the basket. "Is it okay if we open it now?"

"Sure!" said Isabelle. "Go right ahead!"

Isaac went first, breaking through the cellophane and pulling out something wrapped in shiny gold paper. He gently removed the wrapping, as if whatever was inside would shatter if he so much as touched it the wrong way. He lifted up a set of shining, yellow stones shaped like stars.

"Psy Crystals?!" asked a stunned Isaac. "Wh—where—how did you even find these?!"

"What can I say?" replied Isabelle coyly. "I've got plenty of connections around here."

There were many other gifts in the basket. A set of five winged bottles filled with a celestial pink liquid, a bag of certified-fresh New York bagels, bottles of milk, apple pie, pecan pie, cherry pie, and even a special voltfruit pie! There was also a strange looking seed that shot out massive vines when touched, a tea set decorated with light pink dots, a set of red and green cushions, and a bottle of unpleasant-looking bright blue liquid. "It was Dark Samus' contribution!" claimed Isabelle.

"Wow," breathed Krystal, having finally found her words. "This is— well, what can I say? This is so thoughtful of you!"

"This is amaaazing!" squealed Phosphora, holding up a necklace with a lightning bolt-shaped necklace. "You guys are angels, you know that?" she said, throwing a wink at Little Mac.

"Yeah, seriously, you guys," said Isaac with a tired smile. "This really means a lot. Thanks."

"Bah!" said Waluigi, turning away. "I don't need your charity!"

Many disapproving looks were directed at the lanky man, mostly from Krystal and Lyn. Just then, Isaac pulled out another box from the basket, long, heavy, and wrapped in shiny purple paper. "Wait! This one's for you, Waluigi!"

"Waah?" Waluigi looked surprised. He squinted at it doubtfully, as though he wasn't sure if it was a prank or not. Deciding that it probably wasn't, he recklessly tore away the paper and opened the box, throwing the lid over his shoulder.

"Waaah…"

Lying in the box was a tennis racket, identical to his own, right down to his inverted L symbol stenciled on the strings. The only noticeable difference was that the yellow accents around the beam were painted just a little brighter, making it appear golden when the light hit it just right. It was a dead ringer for Charlotte, back in her heyday. He looked back at Little Mac and Isabelle, mouth agape.

"Well? Do you like it?" said the dog, staring at him with expectant eyes.

"We made it ourselves," said Little Mac, reclining on the couch.

Dark Samus said nothing, but continued to stare fixedly at the man.

Waluigi's mouth opened, closed, opened, and closed again. For once, he was at a loss for words. This was probably the first time anyone had been kind to him since the tournament started. At last, he found his tongue.

"Weeeh… this handiwork is… passable," murmured Waluigi. "Respectable, even. Not bad… for a novice," he added with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Little Mac blinked. "Y'know what, I'm gonna take that as a compliment."

As everyone present talked amongst themselves, Isabelle glanced up at the moon taking hold of the night sky. "Oh, goodness, look how late it is! I should get going!" She got up from the couch. "Well, it was lovely catching up with you all! I'll be seeing you soon!"

"Yeah, I'm gonna hit the hay, too," said Little Mac. "Man, I miss this place! It's been real, you guys."

"Aw, you're leaving already?" One by one, even Assist Trophies went in for another group hug, save for Waluigi, who still refused to take part, and Dark Samus, who simply floated there as she, too, got up to leave.

After the last "goodbye"s and "We miss you"s were said and the fighters had left, Lyn sat back down on the couch. "Well, that was nice, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, it was," said Isaac, sitting down and putting his arms behind his head. "Nice to know that Mac's keeping up alright."

"If I'd known that Isabelle was here last tournament," cut in Krystal, "I would have applied for an Assist Trophy position earlier!"

To her left, Phosphora nodded. "You should've seen her last time, she was amazing! She made Dr. Wright look disorganized!"

Lyn smiled as she thought back to those times. "And Dark Samus was…she was…"

Everyone paused as they thought back to Dark Samus' tenure as an Assist Trophy. They remembered her creepy staring as she "introduced" herself to the others. They remembered her sudden, frequent intense cravings for Phazon. They remembered the incident in the second year that resulted in a third of the fighters being admitted to the infirmary.

Everyone's eyes fell on Dark Samus' vial of liquid that had been left in the basket, still untouched.

"...Yeah, I don't really miss her at all," said Lyn quickly.

"Oh, yeah."

"Definitely."

"But another thing," said Isaac, turning to face Waluigi. "What you said back there, Waluigi… that was probably the nicest thing I've heard you say since… ever. What was that about?"

Waluigi started, obviously not expecting to be asked such a question. He folded his arms and turned his head. "I don't know what you're talking about." he mumbled.

"You were all, 'Oh, I don't need your charity', but then you turned right around and complimented them… kind of," said Phosphora. "What gives?"

Waluigi's mouth worked as he struggled to find a proper explanation. "Waah. I'm just making them drop their guard," he answered. "Then, when they least expect it, I'll defeat them and all the rest of those losers so that I can become the biggest superstar of the world! What they don't know is that this tennis racket will be the key to their defeat! Waaa ha ha ha!"

Krystal stared at Waluigi, unimpressed. "That's an odd way of saying 'I really liked the tennis racket they gave me'."

Waluigi looked shocked. "W-waaah?!"

Lyn chuckled as she watched Waluigi's face fall. "Maybe this might be a reason for you to be nicer to them in the future? Return the favor, perhaps?"

Waluigi irritably crossed his arms. "In your dreams! Although when I take over, I might consider taking them on as my lackeys… then you'd all better watch out!"

The four other Assist Trophies exchanged sardonic glances. Phosphora burst into shrill, juvenile laughter, while Krystal, Isaac, and Lyn all rolled their eyes. "Sure, man. Whatever you say," said Isaac with a grin.

And so they sat, chatting and digging into the voltfruit pie. It was the best night they'd had in a long while.

Chapter Text

"Check."

"Gosh, already? That's, like, the fourth time this game…"

Sukapon and Tiki were unwinding in the lounge after lunchtime. And what better way to relax than with a fine game of chess? So far, Tiki was pressing the advantage at every turn.

"What can I say?" responded Tiki with a sly shrug. "All that time playing chess with Robin has really worn off on me."

"Yeah, I can tell," said Sukapon, carefully moving his king out of the range of a rook. "From what I hear, they're pretty good at tactical… stuff. Ah, your move."

"Yes, they're quite a force on the battlefield," agreed Tiki. She moved her rook five squares to her left. "That's checkmate, by the way."

"W-what?!" Sukapon blinked in surprise as he stared at the chessboard. "Well, how do you like that? And with a rook, huh? Gosh…" He scratched the side of his oblong head. "I guess that was kind of a rookie mistake, eh? Eh?"

Tiki laughed politely. "I suppose it was." She began to clear the board of any leftover pieces. "Care for another game?"

"You bet I am!" Sukapon collected the black pieces to put back on his side of the board. "This time, my old strategy 'Ivan Walnut's Gambit' will work like a dream!"

A smirk played on the manakete's lips. "Oh, really? I don't think it'll stand a chance against the legendary 'Tiki's Seesaw'!"

"Ha ha! We'll see about that!" The pieces were reset, and Sukapon had the first move. So the robot sat, staring at the board, pondering his opening.

…

"…You know," he began, "a little birdie told me that chess is really, ah… good for your brain. It's nice."

"I heard the same thing," replied Tiki, not taking her eyes off the board. "Chrom says it was a good way to strategize when dealing with Plegian brigands."

"Yep. Heard regular play keeps your brain loose and limber." Sukapon moved a pawn two spaces forward.

"Mmm." Tiki responded by moving her own pawn forward one space.

"Actually," continued Sukapon, "I did end up playing chess with that birdie. I said to 'em, 'Toucan play at that game!'"

Tiki did not laugh, or even respond.

"T-toucan. 'Two can'. It's a… play on words…"

Still nothing. She was sitting upright now, her eyes wide.

"Oh, no. Don't tell me you've heard that one already?"

"Don't move." Tiki's words came out in a low whisper.

Sukapon suddenly felt very nervous. "What? Why?"

Slowly, Tiki began to get up from her seat. "Sukapon, I don't mean to alarm you, but there's a spider right behind you."

Sukapon blinked. "Huh?" He laughed lightly. "Oh, nice try, Tiki, but I wasn't born yesterday!" He turned around to take a look. "I mean, honestly, that's like, the oldest trick in the book! Do you really expect me to believe that right when we're starting our game, there's suddenly a spider right behind—"

As it happened, Tiki was telling the truth. There was indeed a quite large spider, about as long as Tiki's middle finger, and the color of bark on an old withered tree. It dangled from a strand of silver webbing, two inches from Sukapon's face.

"Egyaaaaah!" cried Sukapon, stumbling out of his chair and scrambling away. "Sp-sp-spider!"

The spider dropped down and crawled on the table, knocking over some of the chess pieces in the process. A bit of a shame, too, for Tiki was setting up an excellent French Defense.

"Okay, calm down," said Tiki. "It's on the chessboard. I'm just going to clear the board and take it outside."

"What, and ruin our game?!" protested Sukapon.

"It's been two moves! We can start over!"

"But it won't be the same—" Sukapon stopped. "It's gone," he whispered.

"What?!"

Sure enough, the spider had left the chessboard, leaving both their kings knocked down. It was nowhere to be seen.

"Oh, gods," muttered Tiki as she began to look around the room. "It could be anywhere now."

Sukapon grabbed the first thing within reach, an umbrella left by the entrance. "Did you see the size of that thing?! It must've been the size of, like, a rat, or something!"

"Calm down, calm down," said Tiki. She reached over to shut the door. "All we need to do is find it and… dispose of it."

So the two searched the lounge, peering under tables and chairs and combing behind bookshelves. They searched high and low, but no sign of the spider remained.

"Any luck?" asked Sukapon, gently pushing in a chair.

Tiki shook her head. "It has to be in this room. Where could it have gone off to?"

The duo was silent for a moment. A thought suddenly occurred to Sukapon. "What if… what if it's one of those venomous spiders? The kind whose bite is inescapably deadly?"

"Don't… don't be ridiculous," answered Tiki, though her voice did not sound as confident as she would have liked. "I don't think it's that kind of spider."

Sukapon shivered, still unconvinced. "Aw, jeez Louise… I watched this spider documentary last night. First they find a nice spot to put down roots, build a nice web and all that. Then another spider comes along, one thing leads to another, and bada-bing bada-boom, they've built up a nice and heavy egg sac. Everything's going well, the spiders are safe, the parents are starting to save for college, then all of a sudden, some fella comes along and, like a dope, casually just trips over something… next thing you know, you're up to your shoulders in baby spiders, crawling all over everywhere—"

"Stop!" cried Tiki, slapping her hands over her ears. "I don't need that mental image!"

"Ah… sorry. Got a bit carried away. At any rate, on the off-chance this spider is dangerous, we gotta find it before it escapes and—"

Sukapon's train of thought was suddenly interrupted by a gentle brushing against the back of his head. He leapt up a foot in the air in surprise. "Gaaah!" Acting on instinct, Sukapon pointed his umbrella at his would-be attacker like a foil, in hopes that the spider would be caught on the end.

It was not, as Sukapon had hoped, the spider. In fact, it was Bomberman, who had his arms raised defensively and was slowly backing away. "…Is this a bad time?" he asked.

Sukapon let his umbrella drop to the floor. "J-jeez! Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Why are you so jumpy?" asked Bomberman.

Tiki stepped forward. "There's a spider loose in this room, and we don't know where it is."

"It could be venomous!" added Sukapon.

"V-venomous?!" repeated Bomberman. "Well, if you're looking to get rid of a spider, I know a great way to get rid of them!"

"You do?" asked Tiki and Sukapon in unison.

Bomberman nodded excitedly. "Yep! Easy way to get rid of any pest, no matter what size!" He began to rummage around for something in his pocket. "They don't let me use this one, 'cause it's 'too overkill for a Smash match', but it's okay if I use it in here, right?"

"Oh, that's great! We need all the—" Tiki paused. "I'm sorry, did you say 'too overkill'?"

Bomberman's answer came in the form of a colossal bomb, easily four times his size, with a gleeful-looking skull printed on it. He held it up like it was nothing, casually tossing it up and down in his hand. "I think this should do the trick," he said, gazing at it like a young boy would gaze at a new toy train on Christmas morning.

"Bomberman, are you mad?!" cried Tiki. "What even is that?!"

"It's a Dangerous Bomb," replied the robot as flippantly as one would talk about the day's weather. "Back on Planet Bomber, it goes through shields."

"I—wh—guh—are you circuits fried?!" cried Sukapon. "You're gonna use that to get rid of the spider? That's gonna blow the whole room to smithereens!"

Bomberman stared at the bomb in his hand, then back at Tiki and Sukapon's horrified faces. "…Will it really?" he asked.

"We're not using that," said Tiki conclusively.

"Okay." Bomberman put away the bomb, looking quite disappointed.

With Bomberman's plan defused, the assistants were back at square one. Tiki began to pace in a circle, running her hand through her hair. "Okay, so we have a spider, that may or may not be venomous, in this room. But we don't know where it is. Does anyone here know how to lure out a spider?"

Sukapon and Bomberman remained silent. Neither of them had much experience with spiders at all, let alone luring them away from their hiding places. "I think," said Sukapon, "that Villager might be able to find it for us."

"Great!" But as she was about to rush out to find the boy, she suddenly remembered something. "Oh, wait, he's in a match right now…"

"Well, what about the other Villagers?" asked Bomberman.

Sukapon shook his head. "They're all busy doing some… some scavenger hunt thing. What about the Burrowing Snagret? It eats Pikmin, and spiders are close enough, right?"

Tiki pursed her lips. "It doesn't like coming indoors. Captain Olimar says it prefers to stay underground." She tapped her chin in thought. "…Greninja?" she suggested.

"Pretty sure he's weak to spiders," replied Bomberman.

"Mmm… We're back to the drawing board, it seems."

With no other ideas, the trio sat and began to ponder the situation. Bomberman in particular rubbed the side of his helmet in thought. How were they to find and get rid of a spider without the use of bombs, like a normal person would? If nothing else, bombs like the most obvious way to go about it. But since that would cause "major damage", apparently, he had no choice but to find another way!

Bomberman glanced over at Tiki and Sukapon. The former was resting her head in her palm, staring at the chessboard on the table, while the latter was hunched over in his seat, tapping his floating hands together. Somehow, by looking at them, Bomberman felt like an idea was right within his grasp. Yes, he could feel it now! An idea was right on the tip of his antenna!

…

…

…Actually, come to think of it, something really was on the tip of his antenna. What was that? He reached up to pluck it off.

There, sitting in his spherical hand, was the spider in question, about as big as someone's fist, staring at him with four eyes. It raised a single leg at him, as if in greeting.

…

"Aaaaauuugh!" shrieked the robot, flailing his hand in an attempt to get it off. "It's on me!"

Quick as a whip, Tiki and Sukapon leapt up upon hearing Bomberman's screaming. "Okay, okay, just hold still," said Tiki, creeping closer. "Sukapon, get the umbrella."

"Right!" The limbless robot plucked the item off the ground and brandished it like a longsword. "Okay, just hold still, buddy, and I'll get it offa you…"

Contrary to Tiki and Sukapon's helpful advice, Bomberman did not, in fact, hold still. Quite the opposite, actually, as he continued to thrash his arms about in a panic. The spider, unnerved by Bomberman's flailing, proceeded to crawl up his arm and onto the back of his head, which only made the poor robot thrash about even more.

"Bomberman, please hold still," implored Tiki, trying to find an opening. "We can't do anything with you flopping around like a fish!" Next to her, Sukapon was about to make his move, but the spider repositioned itself, moving from the back of Bomberman's head to directly under his chin, looking like the robot had an odd-looking, chitinous beard.

"That's it!" shouted Bomberman. "I've got no other option!" He pulled out two bombs, one in each hand and each marked with a large letter "P". His breathing was ragged, not once taking his eyes off the spider.

Right away, Sukapon and Tiki stopped in their tracks. "Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa there, buddy," said Sukapon, "let's… let's not get too carried away now…"

But Bomberman would not listen to reason. Both fuses were lit and ready to go. "This," he said, his voice shaky, "is how we deal with pests on Planet Bomber."

"Bomberman, no," said Tiki. "Please be reasonable."

Too late. In one swift movement, Bomberman threw both bombs down.

There was a flash of red and orange, and then a blast of heat that nearly knocked Tiki and Sukapon off their feet. The room was filled with a thick black smoke, and the walls shuddered and shook.

Tiki coughed and tried to clear the smoke around her. "Bomberman, calm do—"

She was cut off by yet more deafening blasts that forced her to crouch low to the ground. Across the room, Sukapon yelped as his umbrella struggled to hold itself together.

After what felt like ages, the explosions finally stopped, and the smoke began to clear. Bomberman stood in the middle of the room, panting heavily and covered in soot. Sukapon, meanwhile, had been blown across the room, the canopy of his umbrella burned away and exposing the ribs underneath.

Bomberman shut his eyes, then opened them again. "…Whoa. Might've gone a little overboard there." He paused, avoiding the annoyed glares sent his way. "Ah ha ha… But hey, look on the bright side! At least the spider's gone now, right?"

As soon as he finished his sentence, the spider dropped down from the ceiling into the middle of the room. It scuttled away and under a pile of burnt debris that was once a chair.

"…Okay, this is going to be a problem."

After cleaning up the ash in the lounge and realizing the spider was still on the loose, Tiki, Sukapon, and Bomberman had to find another way to deal with it. Sukapon suggested that they look for a fourth party to help them, ideally someone who was good with creepy-crawlies. The first person that came to mind was Ashley, but to their exasperation, she had chosen that day of all days to shut herself up in her room, the fumes of her cauldron's contents seeping out from under the doorway. With Ashley busy, the trio rushed through the halls, knocking on the doors of the other Assist Trophies and filing them in regarding their emergency.

Unfortunately, once Sukapon tried to inform them that the "emergency" they had involved a spider, their fellow assistants were a bit less willing to assist.

"I'm a little busy right now, so I can't help you," said Lyn apologetically.

"Uhhh… I'm not so good with bugs…" stammered the Hammer Brother. "Hey, uh, don't go tellin' anyone I said that."

"A spider?!" said Dr. Wily, only opening his door a crack to peek out. "Don't waste my time!"

"Gar! It's just a wee spider!" said Kapp'n. "Take care of it yourselves!"

"No," said Marie, and promptly shut the door in their faces.

In desperation, Sukapon asked the Thwomp, a spiky stone face that hung in midair. It responded by attempting to crush him, narrowly missing by inches. Sukapon took that as a no.

"Okay, this is just getting ridiculous," said Tiki at last. "We're going around, banging on doors to ask for help dealing with a spider."

Bomberman nodded in agreement. "Tiki's right. If we want this spider gone, we're gonna have to take care of it ourselves."

"I mean, we did," said Sukapon. "I mean, we tried to take care of it."

"Okay, that was mostly me," said Bomberman. He took out a bomb and rolled it along his arm. "Well, if at first you don't succeed, try, try again, am I right?"

Neither Tiki nor Sukapon said anything. Their silence and unamused stares spoke volumes.

"…Or, y'know, maybe not." Bomberman awkwardly put away his bomb.

"At any rate," continued Tiki, "are we really going to just sit here and let this spider defeat us? We've overcome impossible odds and saved numerous worlds! A simple spider should be no trouble at all!"

"Yeah!" Sukapon leapt up, his face alight with ardor. "We can… we can do this!"

Tiki nodded. "Now then, we've got fire breath, various martial arts, and roughly fifteen different types of explosives on our side, against one somewhat large spider. Now then, who's afraid of a spider?"

"Not us!" said Sukapon and Bomberman.

"So what are we going to do?"

"Get rid of that spider!" they cheered.

"Or at least release it outside!" added Sukapon.

So the trio marched back towards the lounge, heads held high and filled with a new mettle. They weren't going to let a measly little spider take their lounge, no sir! As they approached the door, Tiki fingered her dragonstone, Sukapon cracked his knuckles, and Bomberman readied a bomb. Tiki was allowed the honor of opening the door, and so she did, bursting it open with a mighty kick.

"Alright, come out and get some!" said Sukapon, raising his fists. The faint smell of gunpowder still hung in the air.

Without warning, the spider dropped from the ceiling, roughly the size of a dinner plate. It stared up at the trio, its chelicerae gently moving.

"Oh, gods!" yelped Tiki. She tried to turn back the way she came in, but Bomberman, who had fallen backwards in surprise, lay prone in her path, and so she had to step quickly to avoid toppling over him. Sukapon, meanwhile, did not see the spider at first, and nearly bumped into the manakete as he walked into the lounge. When he noticed the spider, he too yelped and tried to scramble away. Of course, this escape maneuver was complicated by Bomberman falling on top of him. Once the trio had gotten untangled and were safely out of the room, Tiki slammed the door behind her.

"Dear heavens," she whispered. "What the hell was that?!"

"That… that was the spider, right?" asked Bomberman, clutching his chest. "Like, the same spider? 'Cause it looked a lot bigger this time…"

Sukapon, who had been on the ground trying to catch his breath, suddenly snapped his head up. "B-bigger? Bigger, you said? Oh, no. Oh, man. Oh, jeez…" He clutched at his oblong head. "Either the spider is growing, or there's two of 'em now!"

"No, no, it was definitely the same spider," said Tiki. "It had the same markings on its body."

"Is that so?" Sukapon scratched his head. "Well, I guess we've only got one spider on our hands instead of two… so in a way, this is better than what we thought."

"But how long is this spider going to keep growing?" wondered Tiki aloud. "If we let it be, who knows what could happen? If it doesn't stop…"

All three paused to ponder on her words. Images of a giant, car-sized spider, crawling around the halls of the mansion and wreaking havoc filled their heads. And worst of all, what if Master Hand or Dr. Wright were to find out? They all shuddered in unison.

"We need to get that spider before it gets out of hand," said Tiki. "Time is of the essence."

Bomberman and Sukapon nodded in agreement. "Y'know," said Sukapon, "I had to kill a spider once, crawling along with my shoe. I don't care how big they get… no one steals my shoes."

Nobody laughed.

"Now is not the time," scolded Tiki.

"Aw, come on!" replied Sukapon. "I have to lighten the mood with humor. It's literally what I was made for!"

"What are you three talking about?"

There stood (or floated, rather) Midna, staring at the group with a quizzical raise of her eyebrow. "Come on! What's the deal?" said the imp.

Sukapon stepped forward. "Oh, y'know, it's… it's nothing, nothing at all. It's just a little, uh… pest control."

"Pest control?" repeated Midna. "What're we dealing with? Mice?"

"Not… quite," equivocated Tiki. "It's a little different from that. There's a—"

But Midna interrupted the manakete with a wave of her hair. "Eh, no problem. I'll take care of it." She pushed open the door and walked inside.

"Wait, wait, wait, nonono—"

But it was too late. The door had closed behind the imp. The three remaining assistants stood there and waited.

…

…

Slowly, the door creaked open again. Midna floated out of the doorway, eyes wide as dinner plates.

"…What the hell is that thing?" she breathed.

"Oh, y'know, just a… a little spider," answered Sukapon.

"Little?!" sputtered Midna. She glanced furtively back into the doorway. "Where did that thing come from?! It was probably the size of a cat!"

Bomberman's eyes went wide. "A cat? A cat?!" A sudden coldness made itself known in his core. He turned to Tiki and Sukapon. "So it is getting bigger after all!?"

"I'm sorry, what? That thing's getting bigger?!" The normally calm, collected, and sarcastic imp had floated down to the ground in her shock. The smirk that usually played across her lips had faded, and her face had paled to an unhealthy gray. "How big was it before?!"

"It was a normal spider a few hours ago," said Tiki. "It's been growing ever since we found it!"

Midna sighed and massaged her temples. "Ughhhhhh," she groaned. "This is gonna be the Temple of Time thing all over again, isn't it? …Okay, here's the plan." She snapped her fingers. "I'm gonna go, er, borrow Dedede's hammer so I can, y'know, crush it."

Bomberman pulled a disgusted face, while Tiki just folded her arms. "And how do you intend to do that?" she asked. "Everyone knows Dedede never goes anywhere without his hammer."

Midna smirked in response. "Simple! I'm gonna have you—" She used her hair to point at Sukapon— "distract him so I can get it!"

Immediately, Sukapon blanched and shrunk back. "Whoa, whoa, wait a minute. Why me?"

"Eh. You've got floating limbs," shrugged the imp. "That works for me! Now let's get going!"

"Now, now hold on," began Sukapon. "Does it have to be Dedede's hammer? Can't we just get a regular hammer, or an Ore Club, or maybe one of those baseball bats?"

"You heard what happened with Spring Man," countered Midna, now seizing one of the robot's hands with her hair. "It'd take forever to get through that place, let alone find one of those. We're doing this my way! Now come on!"

"But! But-but-but…" Sukapon dug in his heels to resist Midna pulling him away. "I really don't wanna get on Dedede's bad side! I dunno about you, but I'd rather not meet the business end of that hammer! Speaking of which, what about you? Why can't you, like, smash it with your fist-hair or something?"

Midna gagged. "God, no. I'm not touching that thing. Now come on! If we hurry, we can still—"

"Waaah?"

"Oh, great."

Scowl as bitter as ever, Waluigi marched into the hallway where the four were having their discussion. He raised an eyebrow as he approached. "What're you losers talking about?"

"Hey, Wally," greeted Sukapon with no verve or vigor to his voice whatsoever. "We're trying to get rid of a spider."

"Waah? Is that it?" sneered the lanky man. "Heh. Can't even get rid of a measly little spider, eh?" He haughtily twirled his mustache. "Luckily for you losers, Waluigi is here, and he has deigned to help you—"

Midna rolled her eyes as she held up her hand-hair to interrupt. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever. You wanna get that spider, be my guest." She opened the door and gestured for him to go inside.

Waluigi grinned unpleasantly. "Don't mind if I do!" He brandished his tennis racket and strode inside, head held high, and closed the door behind him.

…

"Fifty coins says it eats him," murmured Midna.

"Don't," groaned Tiki.

"Make it seventy-five," whispered Sukapon.

"Waaaaah!"

Waluigi came bursting out of the lounge, nearly tripping over himself as he did so. He scrambled into a sitting position and clung to the wall opposite the door. "Wha-wha-what was that?!"

"Just a 'measly spider', eh?" asked Bomberman.

"That beast jumped on me and tried to tear off my mustache!" gasped Waluigi. "Where did it come from?"

The other assistants could only shrug in response. "It just sorta showed up while me n' Tiki were playing chess," explained Sukapon. "It's been growing bigger ever since."

"Bigger?!" repeated Waluigi. He brusquely got up and dusted himself off. "Oh, no. As much as I'd love to help you losers and be the brave hero, even I know when to walk away. You guys can do whatever you want, but I want no part of this."

Nobody seemed terribly heartbroken to see Waluigi walk away. Midna, however, stared after him with a calculating expression on her face. At last, her eyes widened in realization and she tapped her fist into her open palm. "That's it!"she exclaimed as she stretched out her hair to seize the lanky man and drag him back towards the door.

"Wa-waaaaah?!" Waluigi flailed about and clawed at the floor in an attempt to escape. But Midna's hair proved to be stronger, and he was hauled up off the ground and shown off like a fisherman's prized catch.

"We're gonna use Waluigi as bait!" announced Midna, arms akimbo.

Waluigi's reaction was immediate. "You what?!" he screamed. He floundered and writhed in her grip in another escape attempt, which was very difficult considering he was hanging upside-down by his ankles.

"Midna…" began Tiki, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You… you can't use him as bait."

"Aw, come on, Tiki," said Midna, "it's not like he'd actually die! We're using him as bait to distract the spider while the rest of us get it! And besides, even if he did, would any of us really miss him?"

Tiki opened and shut her mouth several times for what felt like ten minutes. "…Master Hand would notice," she got out at last.

"But like, would he, though?" asked Sukapon.

"Okay, you know what, I'm vetoing this," declared Tiki. "Midna, your plan is far too convoluted."

Midna rolled her eyes and grouchily dropped Waluigi to the floor. "Seriously?!" he huffed. "That's what puts you off from the plan?!"

Tiki ignored him to address everyone else. "Okay, we now know that the spider grows bigger the longer it's left alone. What we don't know is if it has an upper limitation to how big it can get. If we're going to dispose of it without Dr. Wright knowing, we need to act swiftly and—"

"Without my knowing what, exactly?"

Everyone present froze in shock, even Waluigi, who had taken the opportunity to limp away from the scene. There was Dr. Wright, arms folded, standing in the middle of the hallway, staring at them all with a half-suspicious, half-concerned gaze that was characteristic of all parents.

"…Oh," said Tiki, who had turned quite pale.

"Uh… hey, Doctor!" greeted Sukapon with fake cheer.

Waluigi, who had stopped like a deer in the headlights upon Dr. Wright's arrival, suddenly found his legs and tried to back away again. Midna pinned him to the ground with her hair.

"And just what do you think you're doing?" asked the green-haired man, seeming to stare directly through them.

Sukapon swallowed hard and mopped at his brow, while Tiki's eyes nervously darted back and forth. Bomberman scratched the back of his head, and Midna whistled in what she hoped was an innocent, unassuming manner. It was not.

At last, Sukapon spoke up. "We have a, uh… minor… trivial… teeny-weeny… just a little inconvenience, really… a, uh, spider problem."

"A spider problem," repeated Dr. Wright, raising a single eyebrow.

Tiki nodded slowly. "Not exactly a minor problem, really…" She twiddled her fingers. "Out of curiosity, what would you do if we told you that it's been steadily growing bigger this whole time?"

Dr. Wright blinked. "I… what?" He walked up to the door and opened it to peek inside.

The spider sat right in front of the doorway, now roughly the size of a barstool. It hissed softly as it crawled along the floor.

Slowly, Dr. Wright closed the door. His face was pale as a sheet. "What the hell is that?" he whispered.

"It's a giant spider, doofus," answered Midna. "We've been trying to get rid of it all day."

"We?" repeated Waluigi, reminding everyone of his presence. "What's this 'we' stuff? You wanna fight that monster, be my guest. Just leave Waluigi out of it."

"Which is a perfect segue into my strategy!" chirped the imp. "We're gonna use this guy here—" she shook Waluigi like a wet rag for emphasis— "as bait, so that the rest of us can sneak up on it and—"

"I told you we're not doing that," interrupted Tiki.

Sukapon shrugged. "I don't think he'd make good bait, anyways."

Midna pouted. "Technically, you're not the one in charge here. Dr. Wright was named the leader, so he's gonna be the one to back me up!" She crossed her arms in self-satisfied triumph.

"We're not sacrificing Waluigi," said Dr. Wright.

Midna's face fell. "Man, you guys are no fun at all," she muttered, dropping Waluigi to the ground.

"At any rate," began Dr. Wright, before anyone could press the matter further, "the important thing is that there is a—" he lowered his voice to avoid alerting any passersby— "giant spider on our hands. But, luckily for us, there is a simple and effective solution." He snapped his fingers. "We'll enlist the help of Flies and Hand!"

"…Flies and Hand?" repeated the group in front of him.

"Yes, Flies and Hand," confirmed Dr. Wright. "You know, the assistant that swats at both flies and fighters?"

"Ohhhhhh." Everyone nodded as they recalled the mysterious entity consisting of a small floating white glove that always seemed to be wielding a flyswatter. How could they have forgotten?

"I thought that thing was just, like… Master Hand Junior," admitted Sukapon.

Dr. Wright clapped his hands together. "Then it's settled! We haven't got a moment to lose! We have to find Flies and Hand!"

After some searching, they eventually located the glove in a broom closet on the third floor. It sat motionless on a shelf, seemingly waiting for someone to pick it up. As soon as the door was opened, it sprang to life, seizing its flyswatter and swinging at the first thing it could. In this case, its chosen target was Waluigi.

"Gahhh!" cried the lanky man. "What's the big idea?! Get off me!"

"Well, it does try to get rid of pests," murmured Midna.

Dr. Wright stepped forward. "Excuse me, Flies and Hand? There's a… minor pest problem in the lounge, and we could really use your assistance."

At the words "pest problem", the glove suddenly stopped swatting at Waluigi and snapped to attention. It twirled its flyswatter as if it were a sword, then raised it skyward, brandishing it with a tight grip. It zipped past the group and sped down the hallway.

Dr. Wright looked quite pleased with himself as he watched the hand go. "You see that?" he said. "It'll be in and out in minutes! We have nothing to worry about!"

They followed the glove back to the door of the lounge, where it paused and tapped on the doorknob with its flyswatter. Dr. Wright couldn't help but smile at how childishly impatient it looked. "Alright, alright, it's in there. Have at it!" he said, opening the door and letting the hand inside.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" asked Tiki. "I mean, it's just so… small."

"Oh, come now," chuckled Dr. Wright with an impatient wave of his baton. "Haven't you heard of big things coming in small packages? Why, I wouldn't be surprised if it hasn't been dealt with already!"

In response, the door to the lounge swung open with a loud bang, making everyone jump. For a moment, everything was still. Then, a small, purple flyswatter came flying out of the lounge and landed on the floor in front of the assistants, snapped in two at the handle, its plastic mesh torn, and covered in an unidentified slime.

Tiki's hand flew to her mouth. Sukapon leaned against the wall to steady himself, and Dr. Wright's tall green hair fell limp.

"Dear Nayru," breathed Midna. "It killed Flies & Hand."

Suddenly, the glove skidded out of the lounge, seemingly in one piece but covered in scratches and torn at the cuff. It picked up what remained of the flyswatter and took off down the hallway, running on two of its fingers.

From inside the lounge, the spider, now as big as a car, peered out at the horrified Assist Trophies. As it adjusted itself, one of its legs knocked over a couch, and its abdomen twitched faintly. Its inky black eyes continued to stare at them as it moved ever closer…

Dr. Wright rushed forward and slammed the door shut. "Dear Lord," he breathed. "We're in deep trouble now."

Midna, who had been floating in stunned silence, sighed in. "Well, it looks like we've got no other option. If we're gonna get rid of that spider, we're gonna have to deal with it ourselves." She pounded her fist into her palm to punctuate her point.

Tiki slowly nodded. "Midna's right. It's time for us to do what we should have done from the start."

Dr. Wright adjusted his bowtie and stood up a little straighter. "Well, if that is what needs to be done, then you have my support."

Sukapon also stepped forward. "Yeah! I'm not afraid of any spider!"

Bomberman nodded, putting his hands on his hips. "It's six against one! That thing doesn't stand a chance!"

"More like five against one," said Waluigi. "Leave me out of this."

"Oh, no," said Midna, picking him up and dropping him just in front of the door. "You're helping whether you like it or not!"

All six assistants stared at the door, gathering their courage. This time, it was Midna who was allowed to open the door, and so she did, ripping it off its hinges with her hair (Dr. Wright winced behind her). There stood the spider, right in the middle of the room, the hairs on its eight legs quivering as it adjusted itself. It clicked its chelicerae together, as though it was challenging them.

"Okay, here's the plan," began Midna. "Does anyone here have a bow and arrows, or some kind of long, thin projectile?"

Her eyes fell on Dr. Wright and his baton. The green-haired man followed her gaze and drew it closer to his chest. "I need this!" he protested. "If anything, I could summon skyscrapers to flip it over!"

"That's a good plan, actually," remarked Tiki. "If we flip it over, we could expose its weak point."

"Then it's settled!" declared Dr. Wright. "Tiki, Sukapon, you flank its left, while Waluigi and Midna take its right. Bomberman and I will—"

Before Dr. Wright could divulge the rest of his plan, the spider extended one of its legs to trip him. It let out a piercing, hissing roar as it began to climb up the wall and onto the ceiling.

Midna cursed under her breath, morphing her hair into a fist. "Okay, no time to lose!" she ordered. "Everybody go, go, go!"

The group went on the offensive, each of them moving to a strategic position. Sukapon used his Tondeker technique, creating copies of his own head and throwing them at the spider. On the opposite side of the room, Midna gathered small balls of energy into her hands and fired them at it. Both of these projectiles bounced harmlessly off its exoskeleton. Dr. Wright waved his baton, summoning skyscrapers to knock the spider off the ceiling, but it dodged the attack and scuttled off to a corner. Waluigi, meanwhile, leapt up and attempted to hit the spider with his tennis racket, but this, too, proved ineffective.

"I don't think we're doing this right!" asked Sukapon above the din. "Does this thing even have a weak point?"

"N-nonsense!" replied Dr. Wright, jerking out of the way as the spider suddenly dropped to the ground. Behind him, a framed picture fell to the floor and shattered. "These types of monsters, they always have a weak point!"

"Maybe if you had used bug spray or something to start with," said Waluigi, "we wouldn't be here right now!"

"Shut up, or I'm feeding you to that thing!" growled Midna. As she continued to hover around and fire balls of energy at the spider, she noticed Waluigi swinging his tennis racket while also using it to protect his face. She smirked as an idea formed in her brain. She whistled at the lanky man to get his attention. "Hey, Wally!"

Waluigi paused his attack. "Waah?"

With two hands, Midna charged up a ball of twilight magic and shot it at Waluigi. "Here, catch."

"Waaaah!" As the projectile flew at him, Waluigi instinctively swung his tennis racket, and…

"Screeeee!"

Waluigi opened his eyes. His swing had deflected Midna's shot and sent it towards the spider, who flinched and began to back away.

The purple-clad man glanced over at Midna, who was grinning at him in a 'you see where I'm going with this' gesture. Waluigi grinned back as he brandished his tennis racket. "Heh heh heh heh! I'm not a tennis champ for nothing! Bring it on!"

Midna obliged, sending another volley of energy balls at him to reflect, which he did, posing dramatically with each swing. "Wah! Hyah! Waluigi time!"

The spider recoiled and began to back away towards the wall. Sukapon took the opportunity to lunge at it, firing his head at its abdomen while advancing forward. The beast squealed as it began to tip over on its side, now fully backed into a corner.

"Excellent!" cried Dr. Wright. "Now's my chance!" He moved forward and waved his baton to conjure buildings directly under the spider, in hopes of fully knocking it off balance.

Too late. The spider crawled back up the wall and onto the ceiling, just as the buildings appeared, knocking over an end table and shattering the lamp that rested on it in the process.

The battle raged on, with everyone trying their hardest to get the spider down. But this time, it had learned its lesson from its time on the floor, and so it adamantly clung to the ceiling. Even Midna and Waluigi's new strategy of firing and reflecting magic was not quite as effective as it had been.

"This isn't working! We need more firepower!" called Midna. She gestured at the other two assistants. "Tiki! Bomberman! That means you!"

"Hold on!" said Dr. Wright. "If Tiki transforms in here, the lounge will be ruined!"

"Is that your biggest concern right now?!" shot back Midna. "There's a giant spider in the room!"

"Surely we can handle it without destroying the whole room?!" Behind him, Sukapon yelped as he was knocked away by a claw.

Midna opened her mouth to make a snappy retort, but was interrupted by light filling the room. There stood Tiki, in her dragon form, claws poised and jaws glowing as she prepared a blast of fire.

"This might get unpleasant!"

Everyone dove out of the way as the manakete unleashed her fire breath at their foe. It was a direct hit, making the spider screech loudly as it shrunk away from the flames.

"My turn!" Bomberman leapt up and started placing bombs around the spider as the other assistants, their morale bolstered, continued their onslaught. Once they were in position, Bomberman took out a remote and pressed the button, just as Tiki was preparing another stream of fire. This time, the combined force of Bomberman's bombs, Tiki's fire breath and everyone else's physical attacks was enough to knock the spider off the ceiling and send it tumbling to the floor on its back. Its legs flailed about as it rocked back and forth.

Sukapon gagged as he stared at it. "Eyecch! It's all gross and crawly…"

"Exactly what we're looking for!" declared Midna, gathering more magic in her hands. "That's its weak point! Everyone attack!"

All six assistants charged at the prone spider. Bomberman held a giant bomb in his hands, preparing to throw it down; Tiki charged up another stream of fire, and Dr. Wright wielded his baton like a sword, ready to plunge it into—

"Guys?"

Everyone stopped in their tracks, Waluigi in particular stumbling and falling flat on his face. Tiki shimmered and returned to her humanoid form. They all turned to the source of the voice.

There, standing in the doorway, were Ashley and Red, the latter's eyes as wide as dinner plates, while the former simply stared stoically at the room, and the bewildered assistants, and the ruined furniture, before her eyes finally fell on the giant spider.

"So the little flyswatting hand was right," murmured Ashley.

"You guys were playing with a giant spider?" shouted Red. "And you didn't tell us?!"

Sukapon was about to open his mouth to ask where the duo had been all day, but Dr. Wright spoke first. "We weren't playing with it, we were trying to get rid of it. Tiki said that it started out normal, but it's been growing bigger all day, and—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold the phone," interrupted Red. "It's been growing bigger all day?"

Tiki nodded after a moment. "We've been trying to get rid of it all day."

Ashley and Red exchanged an odd glance. Slowly, they crept up to the spider, which was still writhing on the ground. The spider lifted its head and gazed up at them with its eight inky black eyes.

Ashley nodded. "This is the one." From her pocket, she produced a pipette filled with a peculiar-looking green liquid, which she proceeded to trickle on the spider's mouthparts.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, the spider began to shrink down from the size of a car to that of a dinner table, then to that of a large dog, then a plate, smaller and smaller, until at last it was the size of a normal spider. Red carefully cupped it in his hands and placed it into a small jar. "There you go, little fella."

Everyone's jaw dropped.

"What was that?!" cried Waluigi. "Is that thing your pet, or something?!"

Red wiggled his hand in a 'not exactly' gesture. "Ehh… less of a pet and more of an experiment."

"An experiment?" repeated everyone in unison.

"We were making a potion," explained Ashley, "to make spiders bigger."

"The one we tested didn't have a cap on its growth," continued Red. "This little fella—" he tapped on the spider jar— "uh, Tegenaria domestica, I think—escaped pretty much right after, so we spent most of the day cookin' up an antidote."

"To make spiders…?" Dr. Wright's face was twisted in revulsion. "Why would you do that?!"

The imp shrugged. "What, you wouldn't?"

"No!"

"Eh. Your loss." Seeing that Ashley had already turned to go, Red also took his leave. "Well, this has been nice, but…" The imp left, floating backwards out of the room and down the hallway.

The assistants still present sighed in unison as they slumped down in relief. "Man, that girl is creepy," groaned Midna.

"Hear, hear," concurred Waluigi. "I dunno how Wario puts up with her."

"Obviously, he does," responded Midna. "I mean, he has to deal with you, so…"

"Hey!"

"Alright, alright, that's enough, you two," said Dr. Wright, regaining his bearings as leader. "At any rate, you all did a fine job dealing with that spider. Especially Midna and Waluigi. That strategy to reflect Midna's magic at it… it was quite impressive."

Waluigi puffed out his chest and twirled his mustache, while Midna half-shrugged and gave a little smirk. "Well, what can I say?" said the imp, reclining in midair. "From what I hear, it's a pretty common thing back in my world."

Dr. Wright nodded in return. "Although…" His gaze fell on the lounge, the walls of which now bore several burn marks from Bomberman's explosions and Tiki's fire breath. "It seems we've got quite a clean-up on our hands."

Everyone groaned at his words. "Aw, come on, Doc," protested Sukapon. "It's been a long enough day already. Can't we get a break?"

The green-haired man sighed as his mustache twitched in thought. "…Fine. You all get a half-hour break. As for me, I've got very important business to attend to." And with that, he turned on his heel and left the lounge.

The remaining five assistants lingered in the lounge. A contemplative silence hung in the air. "…So what do we do now?" asked Bomberman to no one in particular.

"Well, while we're on break…" Tiki stood up and readjusted the table that held the chessboard, which had miraculously gone untouched during their battle with the spider. She rearranged the pieces so that they were in the starting position.

"…Anyone up for chess?"

Chapter Text

"Good morning, assistants!" rang the voice of Dr. Wright over the intercom. "Rise and shine! It's a busy, busy day ahead of us!"

The assistants rose from their sleeping quarters, feeling rested after a long night's sleep. As they ambled into the lounge, the sun arose on the horizon, its golden glow stretching out through the sky and across the land. The sun rose higher, and the waters twinkled in gold and magenta. There were no clouds present, none of them daring to intrude on the scene. If any of the more tender-hearted assistants had chanced a glance out a window as the rays of light peeked through the glass, they surely would have shed a tear.

Kapp'n took a glance, and a single tear crept down his cheek, in awe of the sight before him.

"…Kapp'n, are you crying?" asked a curious Isaac.

"Gar, and what if I am, ya wee sprat?!" replied the kappa, hastily wiping his face. "Just look at it! It reminds me of when I was but a lad by the shore!"

Isaac, too, gazed out the window. "I… wow. It is pretty nice, actually." He stood next to Kapp'n to lean against the windowsill, resting his head in his hands.

As the assistants dug into their breakfast, Dr. Wright rapped with his baton for attention. "Alright, everyone," he began, "we've got good news for today." Everyone paused and looked up from their meals.

Dr. Wright flipped through his clipboard. He smiled slightly as he took a glance at one of the sheets of paper. "Everything is running smoothly," he announced. "No chores today."

A sigh of relief swept over the breakfast table. Many of the assistants leaned back in their chairs and folded their hands behind their heads, looking forward to a day dedicated to rest and relaxation.

"However…"

Oh, of course. The assistants sat back up, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"However…" continued the doctor. "The hands have packed the schedule full of matches, and Crazy Hand has chosen to raise the frequency of items. This means that everyone should always be ready, for any of you could be summoned at any moment!"

And with that final warning, the meeting had come to a close. The assistants finished their breakfast and meandered out of the lounge and into the hallway, spreading out in different directions.

As they walked, the Hammer Brother folded his arms and sighed. "And here I was, lookin' forward to a nice, relaxing day off…" he mumbled.

Rodin, walking alongside him, simply shrugged. "Speak for yourself," he said. "Much as I love running the Dump, I need my breaks from work too, y'know."

"Yeah, 'cause you run a shop, or a bar, or whatever that place is," retorted the Hammer Brother. "I'm out there workin' my duties for Lord Bowser and everything else I do as an Assist Trophy. You got it easy."

Rodin arched an eyebrow and chuckled knowingly at the turtle's complaints. "Easy, huh?" he mused. "Try dealing with my clients for a couple days. See how you hold up then."

Dr. Wright remained in the lounge, looking on as the rest of the assistants went their separate ways. He noticed Starfy wandering about, the usual wide smile on his face, Baito eagerly gushing about something or other to Bomberman, Zero cautiously looking around with his sword ready, Dr. Wily walking quickly and hurriedly, eyes flitting left and right, and Midna drifting lazily along.

It had been quite a long time since the Assist Trophy program had started, hadn't it? Back then, things had seemed so simple, so small. He had been one of the first, a veteran, and he had unofficially taken the managerial position. A smile played on his lips as he remembered how nervous he'd been the day after the opening ceremony. There he'd been, he, a mere assistant to the mayor, plucked from his post and whisked off to a mysterious dimension, tasked to manage participants in a fighting tournament, of all things… Only twenty-seven back then, and now fifty-nine… he almost missed those days, in spite of their primitive technology!

But as he watched them go, an odd feeling bubbled up in his chest. He found it hard to believe that something so robust and thriving could have come from something so modest. He felt proud, yes, proud of his fellow assistants for making it what it was, but he couldn't help but feel…

…Lost?

…

Dr. Wright shook his head. Now wasn't the time to ruminate. Any of the Assist Trophies could be summoned at any moment, and he was no exception!

He sat down at a desk. If nothing else, there was still plenty of paperwork to be done. Plenty of paperwork indeed.

"Alright, fellas, I'm feeling really good about today!"

So said a small red ghost to his differently colored comrades. The four of them had remained in the lounge, idly hovering around a table.

"Er…" The light-blue ghost cleared his throat. "What exactly is there to feel good about?" he asked.

"Isn't it obvious, Inky?" said the pink-colored ghost to her blue-colored ally. "Today's the day we finally live up to our legacy!"

"Yeah, our legacy!" cheered the orange ghost.

The red ghost nodded with conviction. "Look at us!" He pointed to each of them as he named them, starting with himself, and moving on to his pink, blue and orange partners. "Blinky, Pinky, Inky, and Clyde. These are names that have made history. We've been around forever! We're not only the oldest Assist Trophies in this shindig, but the oldest people here, period!" He paused. "Well, except for that sheriff guy."

"And Color TV-Game 15," added Pinky.

"…Does Color TV-Game 15 even count as a person?" asked Inky.

"Well, that really depends on what constitutes a person," replied Pinky. "Like, are we even sure it's alive?"

"Flies and Hand is alive," put in Clyde.

"I mean, it moves around and it eats," said Inky with a shrug. "I guess that makes it alive?"

"Just because it moves doesn't—wait, what?" Pinky did a double take. "That thing eats?"

Inky nodded. "It just sorta puts its paddles around its food, and… something happens. Now that I think about it, how does the Sheriff eat? I've never—"

"Guys," interrupted Blinky, "I think we're getting a bit off topic here. The point of this is, I've finally come up with an unbeatable, winning strategy."

The other three ghosts stopped their chatter, suddenly very attentive. "A new strategy?" asked Inky.

Blinky folded his arms and nodded. "This is gonna land us in the history books of the tournament for years to come!" He pulled out a small whiteboard and marker from somewhere on his person, and scribbled doodles of the group on it. "Okay, you all know our normal strategy. I—" He raised a pointer at the image of himself— "am the main chaser, while Pinky—" he pointed at the image of the pink ghost— "tries to intercept and ambush. Meanwhile, Inky will try to scout ahead of me, and Clyde…" He paused, sparing a glance at the orange ghost. "Clyde just does whatever he wants. That's how things normally go. But! This new strategy is different! This time…" He flipped over the whiteboard to draw four more doodles of the group in different positions. "This time, Pinky will chase, while Inky ambushes, and I scout ahead!"

At once, Inky's cyan color blanched to a pale teal. "M-m-me? Ambush? Uh… er… I'm not sure if I can—"

"Ah, c'mon, Inky, don't be so modest!" interrupted Blinky. "Remember that time we were chasing Pac-Man and you nearly got him?"

Inky nodded slowly. "Y-yeah," said the ghost. "He nearly bumped into me and then he went down that hallway to get a Power Pellet and he—"

"The point is," cut in Blinky, "you almost got him that time, right? And if you nearly got him while scouting, imagine what could happen if you tried to ambush!"

Pinky, however, remained unconvinced. "…You sure about this?" she asked. "Listen, listen, I'm loving the enthusiasm, but… you're basically asking us to switch our roles out of nowhere, with no practice. You're positive this is a good idea?"

"Absolutely!" Blinky held his head high, and his posture was as tall as a small ghost like himself could manage. "Whichever poor sap we face won't know what hit 'em! And do you know why?"

"Because we're good at chasing!" cried Clyde.

"Even better than that," said Blinky. "We're the best dang pursuers this side of Smashville! Sure, some people might say this idea is 'dumb', or 'ill-advised', or 'poorly thought-out', or whatever. Who knows if those guys are right. Maybe they are! But you know what? If nothing else, you know what this plan is?"

"Incredibly impulsive?" mumbled Inky.

"Bold!" finished Blinky, as though he hadn't heard his blue companion. "Bold, that's what it is! And you know, a wise man once said, you don't win by being lucky, you win by being bold! That's how we're gonna be remembered around here!" He turned to face the other three. "Because who are we?!"

"We're the Ghosts!" cheered Pinky, Inky, and Clyde.

"Who are we?!"

"The Ghosts!"

"…We really gotta think up a better name for us," said Blinky.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than all four of them felt a familiar tug in their backs. A faint glow began to envelop them, growing brighter with every passing moment.

"Alright, guys, this is what we've been preparing for!" said Blinky. "Remember our positions! Pinky's gonna be chasing, Inky ambushes…"

"I-I'm not ready!" yelped Inky.

"Don't be ridiculous, of course you are!" responded Blinky. "This is what we've been preparing for, remember!?"

"But we haven't prepared for anything!"

"We've prepared emotionally!" said Pinky.

"Here we gooooo!"

There was a flash of light, and then the lounge was empty, the whiteboard on the table the only trace that they were there at all.

The light faded and the ghosts' eyes began to adjust to their new surroundings. The sun was setting, and a grand and imposing castle towered in the distance. Below them, a bridge crossed over a canyon where they could just barely make out a flowing river. Inky could see Princess Peach holding the base of a capsule, the glass shards falling away and dissolving into nothing.

"Alright, guys, there's our opponent!" shouted Blinky from some distance away. A small yellow mouse-like creature with black-tipped diamond-shaped ears stood quivering on the spot, just below Pinky.

"You know the plan!" called the red ghost. "Let's give 'em what for, fellas!"

Pinky took off like a shot, pursuing Pichu as it retreated. Inky quickly swerved above her, hoping to catch it by surprise. But just as Pinky was about to ram into it, Pichu quickly zipped forward and past her, narrowly avoiding a turnip thrown by Peach in the process.

"It's coming your way!" said Pinky. "Get 'em!"

"Whuh? Er, me?" Inky halted mid-ambush, trying to regain his bearings. Below him, Peach seized the mouse by the ear and lobbed it upwards like a volleyball.

Off to the side, Blinky raced into the action, eager to fulfill his role. "C'mon, box 'em in! Box 'em in!"

Pinky rushed towards the Pokémon, who began to retreat after a split second of hesitation. As it scampered across the bridge, Inky dropped down from below roughly four paces in front of it. Pichu screeched to a halt and doubled back the other way, but not before Inky rammed into it.

"I… I got 'em! I got 'em!" cheered Inky. "Didja see that? I actually managed to get 'em!"

"Great, real nice!" called Blinky. "Now keep that momentum going!"

Clyde, who had spent most of his time on the battlefield wandering about and doing his own thing, had taken the opportunity to saunter up behind Pichu for a surprise attack. But Pichu, already on edge, turned around to see him coming. It yelped in surprise and fell backwards.

"Eep!" Clyde, too, cried out in surprise, and quickly darted away to another corner of the stage.

Pichu righted itself and stood on four stubby legs, fur standing on end and its eyes darting back and forth between its opponent and the ghosts floating above. Its breathing was heavy, and the telltale steam that signalled high damage rose off its body. Even the lightest hit would be enough to knock it out.

Blinky observed the scene. "Time for phase two! Everyone speed up!"

Pinky charged forward. Pichu froze, its ears faintly twitching. Inky circled around to catch it from the side. Peach waited, standing firm, a tennis racket in her hand. Pichu's cheeks flashed for an instant, a dark cloud formed above it, then…

"Pi-chuuu!"

With a high-pitched shriek of its own name, Pichu called down a bolt of lightning from the cloud to strike where it was standing. The resulting discharge sent the princess hurtling across the bridge, while Pinky and Inky took the brunt of it.

"Guys," panted Inky, "I don't think we're gonna make it." Steam rose off his body, billowing out and up into the sky.

"Nngh… don't be ridiculous!" snapped Blinky. Despite not being hit at all, he, too, had steam swirling off him, as did the other ghosts. All of them were close—not exactly one-hit close, but too close, in Blinky's opinion—to being knocked out. The ability for Assist Trophies to be knocked out was a new addition to the current tournament, and a frustratingly common occurrence among the assistants as of late. And since there were four of the ghosts, Master Hand had elected to have all of them share the damage.

Four ghosts, four targets, four opportunities to attack, he had said. I think that's a fair trade-off.

In that instant, Blinky began to wonder just what, if at all, Master Hand had been thinking. "We just gotta last a little while longer! Don't give up yet!"

Pichu leapt up to avoid a turnip flying at him. Pinky took the opportunity to ram into it from above, giving Peach ample time to remove her crown and smack the mouse Pokémon away. It sailed towards Clyde, who almost didn't notice as he collided with it.

"…Huh? Oh, oh, hey! I got 'em!" hollered Clyde. "I got 'em, I got 'em, I—oof!" His celebration was interrupted, for Pichu had struck him with a flying, electrically-charged tackle.

The ghosts' pace quickened, eager to knock out Pichu while trying to avoid being knocked out themselves. As the mouse darted to its left, the foursome scrambled in pursuit, Pinky leading the charge and Inky hovering close behind. Peach surged forward, pulling out a golf club from somewhere on her person.

Pichu skidded to a stop and rolled, rather ungracefully, around the princess, the golf club hitting the ground and sending bits of stone and debris flying. As it righted itself, it leapt up and backward to avoid Pinky charging into it. Inky, seeing an opening, descended upon it to attack, but Pichu twisted its body in midair to sidestep the maneuver. Peach swung again, her face scrunched in determination. It missed her intended target, but it narrowly clipped Inky as he sped past after his quarry.

Blinky floated some distance away, hoping to find an opening. As he circled around, he suddenly heard a low beeping in his ear. Based on the others' brief hesitation, it was a safe bet to assume they heard it as well. Their time on the battlefield was almost up.

"Come on! Just a little bit more!" called Blinky. He rushed down, breezing by Peach to get into position. "We're almost there!"

Seeing Pinky and Inky converge on its location, Pichu tried to bolt, but was stopped by Blinky ramming into it. Peach took the opportunity to approach, frying pan at the ready. The beeping in the ghosts' ears picked up speed. There wasn't much time left now. Pinky grit her teeth and put on a burst of speed in one last attempt to get Pichu.

Behind Peach, a heart-shaped object popped into existence and drifted slowly down like an autumn leaf, its lavish golden trim glinting in the sun. The mouse Pokémon's ears pricked up, and Peach, noticing the change in posture, turned around to look. With the princess distracted, Pichu zipped past her at lightning speed and reached out for—

"Oh, no, you don't!" Pinky rammed into Pichu in a rather impressive football tackle. It flinched and fell backwards, allowing Pinky to roll over it again, knocking it flat on its back. This time, Pichu rolled away from her, right into the waiting arms of the princess.

At that moment, the beeping suddenly ceased, and the ghosts began to fly up and away from the stage as though pulled by an invisible force. Their time was up and their job had been done, so it was out of the battle and back to their normal business.

The last thing the four of them saw before a flash of light engulfed their vision was none other than Pichu itself, its face scrunched in pain, launched up, up, and away by Peach's frying pan.

Blinky was the first to arrive in the lounge, rematerializing with a loud pop as he landed clumsily in a chair. Pinky came next, falling on her side and on top of the tea table. Inky was soon to follow, having the unfortunate luck to land on his head and on the floor. And lastly, Clyde brought up the rear as he always did, falling on a side table and displacing the lamp that resided there, which was only saved by the quick hands of a passing Jeff. All four of the ghosts simply lay there as they tried to catch their breath.

"I think… I think that went pretty well, didn't it?" panted Blinky.

"About as well as… as I thought it would," came Pinky's response.

Blinky grinned through his exhaustion. "So you admit the plan was great, then."

"Didja see me?" wheezed Inky. "I got 'em. I actually got 'em…"

"I got 'em, too!" said Clyde.

"Yeah. You got 'em," said Blinky, nodding slowly. "We all got 'em. All thanks to my flawless plan that I thought up last night."

A feeble, but still earnest cheer went up among the group. The ghosts lay there, their focus drifting from the exciting events that had just transpired to the fluorescent lights that hung above.

"…So what do we do now, Blinky?" asked Inky after a pause.

"What do we do now? Well…" Blinky thought for a moment. "Well… ahem! Well, obviously we're gonna think of another plan that's really gonna knock their socks off. But for now… for now, we sit back and reflect on our triumph."

"Our triumph," repeated Pinky. "Well said."

Blinky slowly readjusted his position on the chair. "We've got a lot to teach these other guys. Might as well set a good example."

"We have a legacy to live up to," agreed Clyde.

"Yep," nodded Blinky. "Quite a legacy indeed."

The four of them sat in a comfortable, satisfying silence.

Far away from the lounge, the training room was buzzing with activity. When Guile didn't have any classes scheduled on a given day, it was often occupied by other assistants who wished to hone their skills. That day, it was populated by Lyn, Isaac, and Shovel Knight. All three of them were practicing with their weapons, performing repetitions on their own punching bags.

"Okay, but why am I doing this?" asked Isaac out loud. "When I get summoned, I don't even use my sword."

"It's important to keep all your skills in top form," said Lyn. "During my travels, I had to become familiar with both swords and bows."

"But you don't use a bow," countered the boy. "You only ever use your sword."

"On the battlefield, yes." Lyn winked at him. "But we do have a recreational archery range. I'm still an old hand with a bow, as Link can attest. …And what about you, Shovel Knight?" she asked, turning to the blue-clad warrior on her right. "Any skills you've been hiding from us?"

Shovel Knight stopped mid-swing. "Well, not exactly skills per se… but, yes, I, too, have brought a great deal of relics that I don't use when summoned."

"Relics?" asked Isaac. "Ooh, show us, show us!"

"Hmmm… Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt." He rummaged around in his pocket to pull out a small thin knife, with a propellor at its hilt. "This is the Propellor Dagger. It allows me to soar through the air while attacking." Shovel Knight leapt into the air and sailed forward, ramming into a punching bag in the corner.

Lyn quirked an eyebrow, while Isaac's eyes grew wide. "Whoooa… what else you got?"

Shovel Knight took out two large bronze gauntlets to place on his hands. "These are the Dust Knuckles. They're very useful for punching through large blocks of dirt that stand in my way." He paused as he noticed the look in the Adept's eyes. "You certainly seem eager to have a look."

"Huh? Oh, um…" Isaac blushed and took a few steps back. "It's just… You don't really see stuff like this back in Vale."

"Ah, it's quite alright!" replied Shovel Knight. "It's always nice to see young folks have such a vested interest in treasure!"

Lyn smiled as she watched her companions appraise the rest of Shovel Knight's arsenal. As she turned back to her punching bag, her thoughts turned to her homeland of Sacae, and of Elibe. She began to wonder how her friends back in her world were doing. Were they well? She hoped they were. As much as she loved being a part of the tournament, she often found herself wishing to see them again.

She swung her sword, making a thin rip in her bag. Lyn wondered, then, if they could see her, assisting the fighters. What would they say? Would they be proud of her?

…

Nonsense. Of course they would be. And she'd make them proud.

A sudden, gentle tugging sensation made itself known in her back. Her hands were bathed in a faint whitish glow that slowly grew stronger, spreading to her sword.

Isaac, who had been busying himself with a small coin, looked up. "Summoned already?" he asked.

Lyn nodded. "This shouldn't be too long. If I don't come back in time, you'll know where to find me." Already, her hand fingered the hilt of her sword. Her eyes fell to the Propellor Dagger in Isaac's hand. "Don't do anything too reckless, now."

Lyn crouched down, closed her eyes and let the light take her.

When Lyn opened her eyes again, the first things she noticed were the sudden change in temperature and the salty smell of the sea. She looked down and found that she was indeed standing on a beach, with an ocean that seemed to go on forever. Behind her, a Mii threw a flying disc for her dog, who readily chased after it.

Falco Lombardi stood nearby, impatience written on his face. As he tossed aside the base of the capsule, he was suddenly struck from behind by a spiked ball with eyes, hurling him up and over Lyn's head.

King Dedede stormed ahead, brushing past Lyn as if she didn't even exist. A quick glance behind her showed her his targets. Ryu and Wario were busy battling it out, seemingly matched blow for blow, while Cloud was going on the offensive against Mewtwo.

Lyn wasted no time. She crouched down and gripped the hilt of her blade.

"Prepare yourself…"

Lyn remained still as the fight raged around her. She took a breath, not flinching even when Ryu landed flat on his back in front of her.

A single second passed. Above Lyn, Mewtwo teleported out of the way of another mighty swing of King Dedede's hammer. The world around her grew dark and hazy. Only the battle remained.

Two seconds. Falco skidded to a stop in front of her and took off, kicking up clouds of dust and sand. Behind her, there was the sound of steel clashing against steel, followed by several yelps of surprise.

Three seconds. Cloud fired off a green shockwave from his sword, just barely grazing her skin. The sand beneath her boots gave way to hard plastic, signaling that the stage was about to move again.

Lyn shut her eyes. A cold, but refreshing wind blew through her hair. It was not unlike that which blew through the plains of Sacae. The sounds of frenetic battle began to fade to mere background noise.

Images of her friends appeared in her mind's eye. Their faces varied, showing either determination, confidence, or encouragement. But they all seemed to ask the same question.

Why do you fight?

"..."

Lyn opened her eyes. Cloud was flying up and away from behind her, launched by a decisive whack of Wario's fist. Falco was standing in front of her again. His jacket was torn in a few spots, and his feathers on top of his head were singed. His eyes briefly flicked to something behind her.

Lyn's sword arm shifted, ever so slightly. Falco whipped out his blaster and pulled the trigger.

The world came back to her in a rush. Light and color filled her sight as she moved as swiftly as the wind. By the time Wario realized she was there, it was too late.

"Taste my blade!"

Wario careened off the stage, some of the hairs of his mustache still floating in the air. An explosion of color signified his knockout. Lyn got up and sheathed her sword.

I fight for my homeland. I fight for those I care about. I fight for all that I hold dear!

There was a flash of light, and Lyn was gone.

Lyn landed elegantly back in the training room. She smiled as she brushed some loose hairs out of her face. "Well, that went well, I think," she said out loud. Hearing no response, she looked around. "Isaac? Shovel Knight? Are you there?"

"We're right here. Ah… a little help, if you don't mind?"

There were Isaac and Shovel Knight, plainly visible behind Lyn. Or at least, half of Isaac was plainly visible. The rest of him was hunched over in a hole in the pristine white wall. Next to him, an odd contraption consisting of two gears was also embedded in the wall, smaller cracks spidering out from the point of impact.

Shovel Knight could only shrug apologetically. "I did try to warn him," he admitted.

Lyn sighed and folded her arms. "Call it a learning experience, I suppose."

"Yeah, I've learned something, all right," groaned Isaac. "Wear a helmet riding these things."

The other two assistants shared a good laugh over that.

Somewhere else in the Smash Mansion, a certain tall, thin and purple-clad man was making his way down the hall, sneering at anyone who crossed his path. Waluigi had no real destination in mind, but he would gladly take an opportunity to cause trouble should it present itself. All he had to do was keep an eye out for it.

As Waluigi walked, his thoughts turned to other subjects. Right away, he thought of his favorite sport: tennis. As far as he was concerned, he was the best tennis player he knew. Obviously. Nobody played tennis better than he did. And if things weren't going his way in a match, no one could cheat like he could. Because, as was known by all, he was the best at cheating. So, naturally, he had to be the best at tennis! It was basic science!

He smirked as he recalled a particularly interesting match during his stay in the Kingdom of Bask. It had been in the semifinals of the Star Cup, against the wicked Bowser. Waluigi had stepped onto the court that day with all of his usual conceit and boasting, not entirely unearned thanks to his recent string of victories in exhibition matches. But even his arrogance paled in comparison to that of the Koopa King. Bowser had leaned against the net post, buffed his claws against his chest, and sneered at the gangly man on the other side of the court. "Take a good look, weakling," he had growled. "Or don't. After all, you'll have plenty of time to get an eyeful when I win this thing!" His lip curled. "Heck, if that tennis racket of yours is still holding up after this, I'll have something to autograph at the end of the day! Gwa ha ha ha!"

Bowser paid dearly for his swaggering. Neither player was particularly quick-footed, but Waluigi's long limbs gave him the advantage over his opponent's slow and lumbering steps. As fast and strong as Bowser's shots were, Waluigi was able to return each and every one with almost no trouble at all. Every flat, slice and topspin was returned as if the entire match was a Sunday picnic for Waluigi. Even when he had been driven to the far edge of the court and Bowser had sent a wicked drop shot his way, he was able to swiftly moonwalk back up to the net and send it flying right past Bowser's own racket.

Waluigi had walked off with the victory that day, and Bowser was none too pleased about having to eat his own words. In his frustration, he had slammed his racket against the ground, shattering it and sending bits of asphalt and string flying. "Too bad," Waluigi had scoffed when all was said and done. "You won't have anything for me to autograph once I win! Waa ha ha ha ha!" It was only by the enraged Koopa's son rushing in at the last minute to hold him back, and the eyes of many in the stands watching him, that Waluigi was able to escape unscatched.

The lanky man sighed as he gazed at his racket. It had been a wonderful summer day, and the Star Cup finals were just a week away. His opponent was unknown at the time, but did it matter? His long reach would win the day, as it had against Bowser. Why, the match was practically won already!

But then…

Three days before the finals, he felt something fundamentally change in the air around him. He remembered it vividly. It was the day he learned that Luigi, of all people, was to be his opponent in the championship match.

Waluigi wasn't one to believe in superstitions, but in the days leading up to the finals, he felt as if someone, somewhere, some greater higher power, was actively working against him. Suddenly, he found that his serves weren't quite as strong as they were, his volleys didn't soar through the air like they used to, and he found himself lunging for the ball more often. No matter how hard he practiced in those three days, these new found issues continued to plague him.

Was he in a slump? Had he lost his touch? Or was it simply bad luck, punishment brought about by his egotism, the fall that succeeded his pride? No one knew for sure. But when both players took the court, and shot after shot whizzed by Waluigi's racket, and point after point was scored, there was something everyone could recognize, from the spectators in the stands to the cameramen broadcasting for viewers watching in their homes.

Waluigi was no longer the terror on the court he once was.

He watched as Luigi lightly stepped onto the stadium to raucous applause. He scowled as Mario and Princess Daisy followed him, smiling wide and embracing the victor. He fumed as Luigi blinked and tried to shield his eyes from the onslaught of flashing cameras, awkwardly holding up his trophy, as if being on center stage was still a new experience to him.

Many others would come to Bask after that, some of whom had never so much as picked up a tennis racket before. The tennis matches would continue, and he would pick up a victory here and there. But his clear and dominating mastery over the tennis court was gone. That much was certain.

Waluigi scowled as he brusquely shoved an Inkling out of his way, ignoring her indignant clamoring. Too bad, kid, he thought to himself. The world is cruel and unfair. And nobody knows this better than I do! Waaah!

A small tugging in his back snapped him out of his reverie. His eyes widened. This could only mean one thing.

Waluigi took out his tennis racket in anticipation. Who was summoning him? Perhaps it would be Wario, and the two of them could team up for some old-fashioned mischief. Was it Daisy? He hoped it was Daisy. Then he could swoop in and play the dashing hero and sweep her off her feet, and she would see who the real superstar was! If he was being honest, he didn't really have any other preferences for who his summoner was, save a couple of fighters that he refused to mention by name. Ah, but there was no time to dwell on that now! It was almost time!

He floated up, up, up, and disappeared in a flash of light.

Waluigi landed on a wooden platform, tennis racket in hand. There was a cool wind blowing, carrying with it the smells of fruit, pine trees, and fresh soil. An assortment of animals watched the scene from the back, gathered around a large tree stump. He deduced that he was on one of the stages based on the Animal Forest.

"Oh, no…"

He paused. Now there was a voice he recognized all too well. He whirled around to meet the source of the voice.

There he stood, his mustache smooth and well-groomed as usual, with bright blue eyes, and a green cap with a green "L" symbol stitched on the front. From the looks of it, his opponent was giving him a rough time, based on how tired he looked. Or maybe he just didn't look too happy to see the new arrival.

Waluigi's eyes narrowed. "You," he hissed.

Luigi sighed. "It's-a me," he replied.

The purple-clad man grinned, brandishing his tennis racket. "Ohoho, I've been waiting for this moment!" he chortled. "Finally, I get to humiliate you in front of everyone!" He moved in closer with every word.

"Wait, what? Nonono, wait!" cried Luigi, holding out his arms to prevent Waluigi from coming any closer. "I'm the one that-a summoned you!"

"W-Waa?" Waluigi looked down. Sure enough, the base of the capsule was in Luigi's hand, vanishing into multicolored dust on the wind. "…Oh." His mustache drooped slightly. "Oh, this is just great. Now I have to help you. Well, luckily for you—" he jabbed a finger into Luigi's nose— "I'm in a good mood today, so I'll help you out just this once."

"You don't really have a choice," mumbled Luigi.

"Now then!" said Waluigi, doing an about-face and "accidentally" smacking Luigi in the face with his elbow, "who's my real opponent?" He scanned the stage until his eyes fell on a figure standing innocuously on the far side of the platform.

A plantlike creature, with a large red head with white spots and sharp teeth in its mouth, sat in a flowerpot slowly waving in the breeze. Upon noticing Waluigi, it straightened up and snapped its teeth at the air.

Waluigi glared daggers at the plant. "You," he growled. "My old arch-nemesis."

"Piranha Plant?" asked Luigi, the confusion plain on his face. "I thought I was your arch-nemesis."

Waluigi turned to glare down at Luigi. "Not everything revolves around you. I have a personal beef with that stupid weed. Now step aside! It's Waluigi time!"

The three of them charged, exchanging blows from the moment they clashed in the center of the stage. Luigi kicked, swatted, and fired off a plunger from a vacuum cleaner on his back. But the Piranha Plant struck back, using headbutts, swinging its flowerpot at him, and spitting spiked balls from its mouth.

Eager for a piece of the action, Waluigi leapt in, stomping the Piranha Plant into the ground with his long legs. "Waa ha ha ha! Lousy plants like you belong in the ground!" he jeered as he continued to stomp.

While the plant was stuck, Luigi took the opportunity to strike it with a knifehand thrust. It sailed away, landing on a smaller platform floating just above the abyss.

Waluigi was none too pleased about having his onslaught interrupted. "Hey! Stay outta my way when I'm working!" he barked.

"But you're supposed to be helping me!" said Luigi. "That's how this works!"

"Yeah, well I can help just fine without you getting in my way," retorted Waluigi. "So back off, or I'll—"

His threat went unfinished, as a spiked ball had dropped from above and landed squarely on his head. A blue and white cat in a sweater winced as he went flying to the other side of the stage.

Gritting his teeth, Luigi bounded up to challenge the plant hand-to-hand, but was promptly smacked away by a swinging headbutt, launching him straight into a recovering Waluigi. As it did so, a black and gold baseball bat dropped from above in front of it, which it eagerly picked up with its leaves.

"Gah! Get off me!" cried Waluigi, shoving the green-clad plumber off him. He stood up and dusted himself off. "Ugh. The last thing I need is you getting your essence all over me."

"My essence?" repeated Luigi, peeling himself off the ground and readjusting his hat. "What's-a that supposed to mean?"

Before Waluigi could provide a snide explanation, the air around them grew thick with a foul-smelling purple cloud that caused both men to cough and choke on it. Luigi stumbled about, trying to clear the air. The Piranha Plant drew nearer, bat in leaf.

The poison dissipated. Waluigi raced towards the plant, smoke and yellow sparkles trailing off his body. The Piranha Plant paused its offensive to put up its shield, blocking Waluigi's rapid-fire stomps.

A plunger shot out from behind Waluigi, latching onto the plant's head and yanking it out of his way and directly into Luigi's grasp. "Gotcha now!" Before it could react, Luigi slammed the plant into the ground and hopped up to cuff it with a downward knifehand thrust as it bounced back up. It dropped the bat it was holding as it flew back towards Waluigi.

"Haha! Take that, loser!" Waluigi leapt up to assail the Piranha Plant with more stomps as Luigi picked up the bat. It was now buried in the ground, flowerpot and all, and smoke billowed off its head and stem.

Waluigi sneered down at the plant as it struggled to get free. Lousy weed, thinking it can outshine Waluigi… He noticed the yellow sparkles coming off him, and began to wonder if anyone was watching him. Obviously, they'd have to be. After all, who would miss an opportunity to see him in action? He could hear Luigi approaching behind him, most likely to finish it off with the bat. But there was no need for that. He certainly didn't need Luigi ruining his big moment. He may have been close to being eliminated, but he wasn't going down so easily. He could beat this plant just as well, and with twice as much style!

He raised his leg for more stomping, but just before his attack could continue, the Piranha Plant broke free from its earthy prison, jumping safely out of range of any further stomps. And from the way its wide, toothy mouth was contorted, it was not too pleased with Waluigi's presence.

"W-waaah!" Waluigi quickly sidestepped just as the plant landed, its leaves spinning like helicopter blades. He tried to attack it from behind, but it stretched out a leaf to seize him by the arm.

The lanky man struggled and writhed in its grip. "Waa—hey! Lemme go! Stupid weed!"

The Piranha Plant grinned, its sharp teeth glinting in the sun, and bit down hard on Waluigi's chin.

"Waaaaaughh!" Waluigi screamed as he tried in vain to get the plant off him. It clearly had no intention of letting go so easily. He thought he heard Luigi's startled squawk through the pain. What was he waiting for? He could use a little help!

The Piranha Plant gripped Waluigi's chin just a bit harder. Without warning, it turned around to fling him toward Luigi in one fluid motion.

Waluigi flew, but managed to land rather clumsily on his feet. He staggered for a bit, trying to regain his balance. He was concerned with righting himself that he almost didn't register that it was Luigi that he had bumped into. He was about to ask what, pray tell, was taking him so long, when he noticed something.

Luigi's face, which currently adorned the dartboard in Waluigi's room, was scrunched up, his eyes shut tight in a wince. He also noticed the way Luigi was holding the bat, as if he was winding up to—

"Uh-oh."

A distinct, high pitched cracking sound rang out as Luigi swung for the fences. There was a sudden pain in Waluigi's stomach. Then, complete and total darkness.

Waluigi rematerialized back in the hallway, the force of the blow sending him skidding across the floor, before he finally came to a stop in a billiard room. Mercifully, it was empty and silent, save for a television displaying the match, so he was all set to regain his bearings in peace. Eventually, the room stopped spinning, so he was able to haul himself up into a chair and think about what had happened.

I was about to finish off that plant… but it turned the tables… it bit me and threw me aside… and then…

And then… he…

The sound of an audience cheering blared from the television, demanding his attention. Waluigi looked up. There was his rival, standing there under a rain of confetti as a fanfare played from an unseen band. He stood there, making little gun motions with his fingers, pointing them back and forth, yet still looking quite humble and nervous.

Even now, he was still as unused to the spotlight as ever. Somehow, that was what infuriated Waluigi the most.

Waluigi sat and scowled at the television. Figures, he thought to himself. I'm the one doing all the work for him, and he smacks me outta the picture to take all the glory for himself! He grit his teeth in frustration. Lousy, no-good cheater!

Just then, a crowd of cheering fighters passed by the empty billiard room. From the sound of it, they were all celebrating Luigi's victory, with Mario, Yoshi, and Daisy's voices being the loudest and most spirited. Waluigi refused to grace them with his attention, pulling his hat over his eyes.

Everybody cheating but me. Waaah…

And so he sat there, alone, stewing in his own jealousy.

Elsewhere, far away from these somber affairs, Dr. Wily made his way up a flight of stairs. He walked quickly and quietly, making himself seem as unassuming as possible. And he had every reason to. He was on an important mission, after all.

Reaching the top of the stairs, he continued to walk through the hall, moving quickly and staring straight ahead as if he had somewhere extremely important to be so he couldn't possibly stop and chat, thank you very much. The last thing he wanted was for someone to ask what he was doing.

Like him, for instance.

Wily shuddered. It was not the big, mean-looking brutes like Bowser or Ridley that were most intimidating to him. Nor was it his demonic cohorts Ghirahim and—okay, maybe Ghirahim a little bit. Even Mega Man, who the doctor knew didn't trust him for a minute, who was a constant thorn in his side even in his nightmares, felt like a more welcome sight. No, it was Zero who frightened the doctor the most.

Dr. Wily wasn't terribly familiar with Zero. He hadn't really gotten to know him at the orientation; all he knew was that he was a robot much like Mega Man. But something about him seemed very familiar, and unsettlingly so. Ever since his first attempt to steal Master Hand's device, where Zero had stopped him, he had a nagging feeling that he was watching him.

…

Suddenly perturbed, Dr. Wily quickly checked over his shoulder. No one else was there, save for a passing Mii.

The doctor groaned and massaged his temples. He needed to get that mailing device quickly. If Mother Brain or Ghirahim didn't do him in, his own nerves would.

Dr. Wily passed through another hallway, turned another corner, and once again, he found himself in front of Master Hand's office. The hall was completely empty. As he gazed at the door, tall and imposing, he could still feel that same powerful energy coming from the other side. He pressed his ear against the door. There was absolutely no sound from within.

His eyes fell to the handle. He reached out to slowly twist it and…

…

…

…Wait. Was the door unlocked?

Dr. Wily blinked. Seriously? The door handle was twisted all the way down. If he pushed forward a little, he could open the door a crack and catch a glimpse of the inside.

Somehow, this was what gave him pause. Was Master Hand really foolish enough to leave the door of his office unlocked? Or was he confident enough in his own power that he knew no one would dare to sneak inside? Maybe this was a trap after all.

Dr. Wily closed the door. Drat. And here he was, about to waltz right in like he owned the place! He couldn't possibly risk an ambush waiting for him on the other side. He'd have to find another way in. As he pondered the merits of crawling through the vents and lowering himself inside by cables, he abruptly felt a tug in his back.

His heart jumped, but the momentary surprise was quickly replaced by a twinge of annoyance. Of course now would be the part where he was summoned. Mercifully, no one was around to see him. "Well, let's get this over with," he said out loud.

And with those words, the doctor was whisked away, leaving no trace.

When Dr. Wily opened his eyes, he found himself in the leather seat of his escape pod, the Wily Capsule. Looking around, he saw that he was in an area that greatly resembled a French Gothic cathedral. He wondered how he always appeared inside of his capsule, no matter how far away it was. But there was no time to ponder such questions, for there were enemies to defeat.

Down below, the robot known as R.O.B. threw aside the base of the assist capsule to fire a laser. The target was an angel with black hair and wings, wearing a matching black tunic. Dr. Wily was quick to identify him as Dark Pit. He nimbly dodged the laser and charged towards R.O.B.

Despite the circumstances, Dr. Wily still took a moment to roll his eyes at his summoner. Just look at it… he thought. Such a primitive design… Although I suppose everyone has to start somewhere. If nothing else, there were worse people who could have summoned him. Nothing to be done about it now. Time to crush this angel under his heel!

With the push of a button, the Wily Capsule fired four orbs of energy, two made of fire, and two made of ice. They homed in on Dark Pit, who was forced to stop his assault to put up his shield. R.O.B. took the opportunity to grab the angel and perform a reverse piledriver.

Dr. Wily winced as Dark Pit bounced off the ground. So primitive, but still so savage… he thought. He shuddered as he imagined having to deal with R.O.B. instead of Mega Man. He pulled a lever to teleport to another part of the stage.

He reappeared right behind Dark Pit, who was preoccupied with slashing at R.O.B.'s chassis. Throwing off the camouflage cloak, Wily pushed another button and the two spikes at the side of the capsule sparked with electricity before directing it towards the ground, sending four orbs that traveled along the floor.

Dark Pit grit his teeth as the electricity stopped him in his tracks. With an elegant twirl, he took out two small shields that in turn summoned two larger energy shields to deflect the electric spheres. At the same time, R.O.B. fired a spinning top at the angel, but this, too, was deflected by the shields.

The doctor teleported again, firing off more flames as he observed the battle below. He could tell that Dark Pit was getting aggravated now that he had two foes to deal with. Both he and R.O.B. were clashing in the middle of the platform, the angel's bow against the robot's own arms. At last, Dark Pit kicked R.O.B. in the chassis, causing him to trip and land on his side.

Dark Pit closed in for the final blow, separating his bow into twin blades. Above him, Wily grinned. Well, he was here to assist, wasn't he? He gripped both levers and pushed them forward. The Wily Capsule spun around and descended.

It was a mighty blow, the hovercraft ramming into Dark Pit spike-first, sending him careening off the platform. At this point, R.O.B. had recovered his bearings, and he leapt up after the angel, arms rapidly rotating to finish him off. Meanwhile, Dr. Wily had teleported back above the main platform. He sneered and pulled faces at Dark Pit as he struggled to recover. A fairly irresponsible decision, but was it so wrong? As far as Dr. Wily was concerned, he had earned the right to be a bit brazen every once in a while.

Dark Pit growled as a device that looked like an electric generator materialized around his arm. He lunged towards Wily in midair to deliver a fierce uppercut on the capsule's skull-shaped bottom.

"G-gah!" Wily yelped as his hovercraft shook from the impact. He hadn't expected Dark Pit to make it back so quickly, let alone have enough time to counterattack. He quickly teleported away to the far edge of the stage.

As the camouflage cloak came off, a speaker above him began to beep. Dr. Wily sighed, partially relieved that he was almost out of danger, and partially dreading what awaited him back in the mansion. He launched more elemental shots, this time one ice, one fire, and the last two electric. Dark Pit swerved around the electricity, but was promptly encased in a chunk of ice as he rolled into the ice blast.

The beeping grew quicker. Wily pondered a second ramming attack or using the lightning again. He watched as Dark Pit broke out of the ice and pushed R.O.B. to the edge of the stage. The robot's shield was up, but slowly shrinking. Dark Pit reached out a hand as if to seize him by the chassis, a maneuver that R.O.B. promptly sidestepped. No sooner had R.O.B. righted himself than Dark Pit prepared his bow and separated it into two blades to slash at him, launching him off the stage and into an explosion of light and color.

Wily frowned as he pushed both levers forward. As primitive as R.O.B. seemed, and even though their partnership was only for this match, he was still rooting for the little guy. Dark Pit barely had time to cry out in pain as the hovercraft rammed into him from behind, sending him hurtling towards the same boundary he'd just launched R.O.B. into.

At that moment, R.O.B. descended from above on a floating platform, and the alarm in the speakers finally stopped. Dr. Wily took the time to laugh at Dark Pit as he descended on his own revival platform. "So long, nincompoop!" he jeered. "Wily always wins! Bwa ha ha ha ha!"

And with those final words, the Wily Capsule sped off into the distance, disappearing in a faint blink of light.

Dr. Wily's first thought upon landing back in the Smash Mansion was relief that he was safe and out of arm's reach of any of those musclebound buffoons that would do him harm. His immediate second thought was Oh, good Lord, my back.

He nearly fell over, catching the handle of the door at the last minute to keep from hitting the floor. "Ughhh…" He clamped a hand on the base of his spine in pain. If nothing else, he was glad that was over.

The sound of chatter amongst friends resonated from around the corner. The doctor jumped in alarm and frantically straightened himself up, trying to look as casual as possible. A crowd of people, animals, and who-knows-what came into sight. Among them, he could see Lucina, carrying her sword and looking quite alert, an Inkling boy completely absorbed in his phone, Shulk discussing something with a blue bipedal canine whose name escaped Dr. Wily at the moment, the young prince Roy peering over the Inkling's shoulder at his phone, Donkey Kong crowding the hallway, and Vince and Chef Kawasaki bringing up the rear, chatting as though they'd been friends their whole lives.

To his immense relief, Zero was not among them.

Dr. Wily did not move a muscle as the crowd passed. None of them paid him any mind, save for Lucina, who peered at him with an unreadable expression. She eventually turned away, the Inkling tearing his eyes away from his phone to tug at her sleeve for her to catch up.

The doctor only exhaled when the last of Kawasaki's toque disappeared from sight. That was too close, he thought to himself. The last thing I need is more eyes on me.

He stared at the door to Master Hand's office. As far as he knew, it was still unlocked. Did he want to try to break in again?

…

…

With a sigh, Dr. Wily turned away. Best not push my luck.

Another time, perhaps.

The sun sloped towards the west, its rays shining on the world, and directly into Takamaru's eyes. He shifted ever so slightly to his left, using the branches of a nearby tree to shield his vision. The training dummy stood silently in front of him. The indoor training room was still busy, so he had taken his training outside for the day. A good thing, too, for it was such a nice day out, it would be a waste not to go out at least once.

Takamaru gripped his katana. A light breeze picked up. The dummy wobbled ever so slightly. Then, without warning, he rushed forward.

The samurai swung his sword in quick, choppy motions, hacking away at the dummy's arm and sending bits of wood flying. Lyn and some of the other sword users had raised some eyebrows at his technique, calling it "odd" at best and "impractical" at worst. But it worked for him. Why bother fixing what wasn't broken?

He jumped back and threw four windmill swords that flew out around him in an X shape, one of them making a solid whunk as it hit the dummy square in its chest. He dashed back up to the dummy and resumed his rush of frenzied sword slashes. It was now looking a bit worse for wear, its right arm dangling at the shoulder and its left arm completely gone.

Takamaru lowered his katana and surveyed the damage as he hummed softly. The dummy was made of tougher stuff than that. He glanced down at his sword. It had gone through so much over his life. The blade had saved his life on more than one occasion. Too many to count. From the moment he'd set out on that adventure so long ago, he was assaulted by all sorts of people. From the many ninjas that seemed to pop out of nowhere, to those he considered friends and allies, all had fallen under the influence of the wicked otherworldly force. It had fallen to Takamaru to purge the evil from Japan, and so he did, driving out the menace armed with nothing but his katana, some windmill swords and a strong gumption.

He had fought alone, and he supposed he had come out stronger for it.

A finger ran across the blade. Confidence welled up inside him. He gave a few practice swings, slashing at the air. A falling leaf was sliced cleanly in two, its halves falling to the ground at Takamaru's feet.

He smiled. Yes, he had gotten stronger.

As he sheathed his katana, he felt a small tugging in his spine. His hands were steeped in a white glow that quickly spread to the rest of his body.

Takamaru gave a wry grin. Figures that he would get summoned right when he was done practicing for the day. Ah, well. If nothing else, it allowed him to iron out a few wrinkles in his technique. And, if he was done practicing, he might as well go straight to the real thing, right?

He took a breath, and the light overtook him.

Takamaru emerged from the capsule, water splashing as he landed. Blinking, he saw that he was standing in a large, yet shallow pool of water, with an elegant-looking fountain off to the side. There were three platforms above the pool, two of them supported by jets of water, and strange-looking trees and mystical towers loomed overhead in the back. A night sky dotted with stars shone above.

Ah, but there was no time to ponder such beauty! From the corner of his eye, he could see Lucario throwing aside the capsule base. In front of him, Solid Snake was fending off Diddy Kong and a drowsy-looking Villager wearing a blue tie dye shirt. It was time to do what he'd been summoned to do!

Quick as a whip, Takamaru rushed forward and began to slash at the Villager. Diddy Kong leapt out of the way just in time. His cuts were rapid, trapping the boy in place before launching him away with a final slash.

Behind him, Lucario ducked a missile, charging forward to grapple with Snake directly. Takamaru backed up a few paces to see Diddy Kong leaping down from above, wooden popgun in hand. He dodged the barrage of peanuts, then threw his windmill swords. The one that flew above him sliced through a peanut to clip at Diddy's tail. The monkey squealed and hissed in pain, falling to the ground in a heap, his aerial assault ruined.

Meanwhile, Lucario had now mounted a full offense against Snake. He struck at the man with precise palm thrusts and kicks, his paws blazing with bluish fire. For his part, Snake refused to go down without a fight, countering with kicks and knee thrusts of his own. The Villager, who had recovered from Takamaru's attack, saw the tussle that the two were getting into and wisely decided to stay out of their way.

Takamaru, seeing that Snake was distracted, hurried up to him to provide aid to Lucario. He threw more windmill swords to cover his approach, then slashed at the mercenary with more erratic slashes. Combined with the Pokémon's blasts of aura, it was enough to launch Snake off the stage, a colorful explosion signifying his KO.

Lucario and Takamaru shared a quick nod before the latter went off towards his next target. While Snake descended on the revival platform, Diddy Kong and the Villager were grappling for space as one of the smaller platforms descended towards the pool. As Takamaru moved in for his next attack, a rainbow-colored capsule dropped in next to the scrap. He paid it no mind, solely focused on the two fighters in front of him.

Although, he wondered for a brief moment what would happen if he were to pick it up and summon someone.

The Villager was quick enough to jump out of the way, but Diddy Kong was not so lucky. He was caught in a hurricane of sword swipes before being flung away the same as Snake, bit of fur and red fabric fluttering in the breeze.

Takamaru turned back to Snake. The Assist Trophy was gone. He looked around for any new arrivals. Odd. If someone had used it, normally someone would be here by now. Perhaps it had simply disappeared after no one picked it up.

Something small brushed past Takamaru's hair, snapping him out his musings. Was that a… pebble?

He turned around just in time to dodge another pellet as the Villager advanced on him. The drowsy-looking boy jumped up to attack Takamaru from above, pulling from his pockets a handful of… turnips?

Takamaru tried to take every opponent as seriously as he could, but some of these fighters still surprised him with how bizarre they could be.

He stepped back and back again to dodge the vegetables. Seeing that his strategy wasn't working, the Villager reached in his pockets to pull out an umbrella dotted with paw prints that he brandished like a melee weapon. Takamaru would've thought it cute had he not needed to dodge the swing. With a fierce shout, Takamaru answered with a swing of his own sword. The weapons clashed, neither combatant willing to give in.

An explosion from one of Snake's grenades caused them to break the clash. Lucario soared overhead, fresh burns appearing in his fur. The Villager was about to pull something else out of his pocket (Was that an axe? What else did he have in there?) when Diddy Kong snuck up from behind and flung the boy up and out of the way. Takamaru was almost grateful, up until a popgun was levelled at his face.

Another flurry of slashes, and Diddy Kong was temporarily subdued. A quick glance behind him told Takamaru that the Villager was very close to being knocked out. He saw the boy looking over at Snake, who was pulling the pin on a grenade even as he chased after Lucario. He reached into his pockets again. In that moment, Takamaru remembered something crucial. The Villagers were known for carrying many of their weapons in their pockets. But that wasn't the only thing they could hold.

The Villager held the capsule above his head, and a loud pop sounded, getting the attention of everyone.

"Here I go…"

He stood there grimly as he surveyed the battle, covered head to toe in jet-black armor, with a red cape that fluttered behind him despite the lack of a breeze. But it was his sword that caught everyone's attention. It was a silver two-handed blade that seemed to glimmer against the dark sky, whether by catching the light of the stars or by its own power. The Black Knight dropped off the platform and marched forward, slowly, deliberately.

Takamaru watched him carefully, studying his movements. His eyes flicked between the newcomer and Snake, who was suddenly trying to stay out of his way. The Black Knight's movements seemed sluggish; his armor was most likely slowing him down. He probably wouldn't pose a threat. Takamaru settled on Snake, charging towards the mercenary with his katana raised.

He dodged Snake's explosives and mortar shells, blocking a grenade with his sword. Just when he was about to close in, Diddy Kong yelp of surprise rang out. Moments later, he passed both of them by, clearly fleeing from some unknown danger.

The Black Knight was still there, where Diddy Kong once was, continuing his stride. The Villager stood behind him, his shovel in hand.

Takamaru pursed his lips. What had alarmed Diddy Kong like that? He wasn't that close to being knocked out again; his damage percentage was too low. Unless the Villager had used his axe? No matter. He had business to attend to. The samurai continued his rush against Snake, who was now putting up a rather impressive defense. He was almost there now.

Snake sidestepped what would have been a finishing blow and quickly slammed a rocket launcher on the ground, ready to fire. But Takamaru deftly leapt backwards to avoid the explosion, landing on his feet a few paces away and wincing at the spray of shrapnel that flew out from the ground. His hand had flown to his pocket to fling more windmill swords when a presence made itself known right behind him.

Takamaru started. Was it Diddy Kong? No, he was right behind Snake. He was about to throw the weapon when his eyes fell on his reflection in the water. He could see his face somewhat, and there was a bluish shape that looked like Lucario if he tilted his head, but there was no mistaking the black armor and red cape.

He whirled around, just in time to catch a glimpse of silver, but too late to do anything about it.

The sword, glinting in the starlight, swung true, and that was the end of it.

Takamaru made his entrance back on the grounds the only way he could under such circumstances: by popping into existence with all his momentum and tumbling along the ground, kicking up dirt and rocks in the process. He finally came to a stop at the base of the dummy, scattering the birds that were resting on it.

He groaned and rolled over so he was lying on his back. The sky was an orange gold, the clouds tinged pink. There was a pain in his forehead that throbbed with every breath he took.

One hit.

He wasn't too familiar with the Black Knight. All he knew was that he was connected with Ike, and that he was feared for his immense strength.

But this…

Takamaru had faced seemingly insurmountable odds over the course of his adventure. He'd fought wave after wave of ninjas, vengeful spirits of the departed, castle guards with innate power over fire, and a mysterious entity from beyond the world.

And here he was, lying on his back after getting swatted like a fly.

One hit.

Takamaru grit his teeth as he got to his feet. Had he gotten stronger, or had he gotten complacent? He glanced at the dummy. It stared blankly back at him.

One. Hit.

"...Hm."

At this point, he was much too injured to continue his training. But at six in the morning tomorrow, he would be right back here, training like his life depended on it.

He would never let this happen again.

At last, the day had officially come to an end. The last of the matches had finished (a real nail-biter between Robin and Samus in her Zero Suit), and most of the technology had been given the okay after some maintenance on the teleporters. For the assistants, this meant they could finally unwind and settle in after a long day's work. A good thing, too, for some of them had really been run ragged!

But luckily, Chef Kawasaki had handled things pretty well over the day, and he was able to serve up a spread of impressive looking (and smelling) dishes for dinner.

"So!" began Dr. Wright as everyone began to dig into their meals. "I trust we've all had a busy day?"

A hum of agreement spread across the lounge. "You can say that again," grunted the Hammer Brother. "Lord Bowser made me his errand boy for the day. If I have to look at another cannon today, I'll just die."

"Well, I, for one, had a wonderful day today," said Vince, putting down his fork. "Some of my students have made a breakthrough in their painting." He turned to smile warmly at Starfy. "Isn't that right?"

Starfy nodded excitedly. "Uh-huh! I finally learned how color theory works! One day, I'm gonna paint a really big picture of everyone!"

Kapp'n laughed heartily at the star's zeal. "Gar, that's the way, wee one! Hitch your sailboat to a star!"

"Yeah, sure, aim high, or whatever," grouched Waluigi. He scowled into his grilled red snapper. "Lemme give you some advice, kid. You can aim as high as you want, but there's always gonna be someone who'll pull the rug out from under you. That's why you gotta treat everyone as a rival! You never who's gonna stab you in the back!"

Nobody seemed terribly enthused by Waluigi's advice. "Waluigi's just sulking because Luigi knocked him out after summoning him," said Takamaru, not looking up from his meal and pressing an ice pack to his head.

The purple-clad man sneered. "Yeah, well, at least it took a couple hits for me, Mr. I-Got-Whacked-In-One-Hit! He got you in the back!"

Anger flickered over the samurai's face for a brief moment. "That is true," he said slowly. "If I may give some advice, Starfy. You can achieve as much as you want, but you must never become too complacent. Always, always strive to be the best you can be."

"Well said, Takamaru," acknowledged Dr. Wright. "Truly words to live by. And on that note…" He glanced up at the clock. "We've got another busy day tomorrow, so after dinner, I suggest everyone get as much sleep as they can! We all tried our best today, so let's see if we can't repeat that success tomorrow!"

So the assistants ate and talked amongst themselves, swapping stories of their greatest triumphs and crushing defeats. Even the most bitter among them were able to cheer up upon being reminded of their achievements.

It had been a pretty good day, all things considered. And tomorrow was a new day.

Chapter Text

Some distance away from all the usual commotion of the Smash Mansion, one lone figure stood on the roof, staring off into the horizon. The figure's metallic skin shone in the sunlight, remaining still even as a breeze picked up. Down below, a figure with pale blond hair and a long red sword was chatting animatedly with a white-skinned woman in blue.

The figure continued to linger there on the roof, still gazing intently into the distance. It stood there, its arms placed firmly on its hips, not that it necessarily used its arms. But it was not for admiration of the view that it continued to look. In fact, it was deep in thought. It stood perfectly still as memories flowed in its mind, twisting and turning and leading back to where it was in the present.

I am Starman.

I serve Master Giygas.

…

I… served Master Gigyas.

He's gone now.

Images of those four children flashed before the Starman's vision. It had faced them before, with some of its cohorts. They had been strong, much stronger than their intelligence had implied. But in spite of this, the Apple of Enlightenment's prophecy would not be carried out. They were young, inexperienced. Master Giygas' will would be carried out!

The Starman recalled the encounter vividly. It had been stationed at the Stonehenge base with three others of its kind. Their orders were simple: the Chosen Four were to be eliminated on sight. The sun was just about to go down when they first arrived.

…

The Chosen Four were strong. Much stronger than they had thought. And they were woefully unprepared.

Their onslaught was fierce and unrelenting. Sparks flew and ice particles shot out from their hands. An icicle speared one of the Starmen in the chest, metal groaning as it tipped over and laid still on the ground. One of the boys, dressed all in white and his hair tied back, teleported behind another and kicked it in the head, deep cracks spidering across its visor.

Very soon, only one was left. Its stance, normally tall and unwavering, was hunched and exhausted, and there was an odd numbness in its left leg. The last thing the Starman remembered was the boy in the red cap, his arms outstretched, as bright lights and deafening sounds assaulted its senses. There was a sudden sharp, crunching pain in its back, and the world had faded to black, as if it was falling asleep.

It was asleep, in a sense. It had lain there, inactive but still conscious, for a long time. But at some point, there was a deep ringing sound in its head that made its whole body shudder. In its last moments of consciousness, the Starman realized it could only mean one thing: Giygas had fallen. It was over.

The Starman gave one final shudder, and then thought no more.

…

…

For how long Starman was out, it did not know. But when it awoke, it found itself in endless darkness, surrounded by a mysterious presence, whose radiating power eclipsed that of even Giygas. It attempted to lift itself up with telekinesis, to face this new entity, but it was still weak from its last battle. The Starman fell back over onto a floor it hadn't even known existed.

You're in a bad way, aren't you? spoke the presence.

"…Who are you?" the Starman had asked.

I am Master Hand. Something deep within the darkness shifted. Giygas has fallen, has he not?

The Starman remained silent.

I can help you.

Some distance away, a light began to shine deep in the shadows. It shone with a brightness that warmed the Starman's cold, metallic skin and filled its core with enough stamina that allowed it to slowly stand up under its own power. As if pulled by an invisible rope, the Starman drew nearer to the light.

A thought occurred to the Starman. Was this a trap? Was it being lured with the promise of aid, of something greater, only to be subjugated while its back was turned? What would Master Giygas think?

…

Master Giygas was gone. Its purpose was to carry out Master Giygas' will. If Master Giygas was gone, what purpose did it have?

The light shone ever brighter. Its glow was very enticing.

Well? asked the presence.

The Starman hesitated. There was something about this entity that spurred doubt in its mind. This life form seemed powerful, but from the way it spoke, it seemed like it was hiding something. Was this a ruse? A plot to lure it in and shatter what little life there was left in it? A spark went off in its brain that told it to resist, to refuse the being's offer. No matter how powerful it seemed, this new presence couldn't possibly help it.

…

But what other choice did it have?

The light was almost blinding now, and what little darkness remained became very still. At last, the Starman surrendered, and let the light fill its vision.

When it awoke once again, it found itself in a room with soft lighting and marble walls, various trophies and odd-looking relics lining the shelves, and a stately wooden desk at the far end. Behind the desk was a large floating white hand, the source of the powerful presence in the darkness.

"Welcome to the Super Smash Brothers tournament," Master Hand had said.

After a series of long talks and plenty of paperwork in Master Hand's office, the Starman was finally given the offer. It would join this Super Smash Brothers tournament as an assistant, to be chosen at random times to use its skills to aid the other participants.

The turn of events was quite shocking to the Starman, an emotion it rarely ever felt. To be given a second chance at life was almost unheard of from Master Giygas. And it was all the more surprising when it was told that two of the Chosen Four would also be participating, one boy as an assistant like the Starman, and another (that boy) as a proper fighter, alongside another boy gifted with the power of PSI.

But once again, what choice did the Starman have? Ever since the fall of Master Giygas, it had no objective to complete, no orders to fulfill except to fight. Simply put, it had no purpose.

Deep down, the very thought was immensely terrifying, a sentiment it chose to keep to itself.

"Very well," said the Starman at last. "I shall serve these Smashers to the best of my ability."

Master Hand beamed. "Excellent!" he declared. "Let me fill out the last of the paperwork, and then you can meet your colleagues!"

The introductions went by smoothly, but otherwise unremarkably. The Starman was never one for interaction with others, only communicating when it dealt with its missions. Nevertheless, when its turn came, it stood and declared its name and origins as all the others had. The large supercomputer shaped like a brain regarded it dispassionately with her single eyeball, but gave no other comment. The boy with glasses, meanwhile, did not meet its gaze. That was fine by the Starman; the last thing it wanted was to be reminded of that fateful day.

Thus, the Starman fulfilled its duties as an Assist Trophy, as their group was called. When its time came, it would teleport onto the platform and fire off powerful psychic energy, with often devastating effects. It was reminded of its work during Giygas' invasion. At last, it had a function, a proper objective! It had been far too long since it had had a true purpose.

…And yet, as the fourth tournament ended and the fifth began, the Starman found itself wanting more.

"Hey. Are you listening to me?"

A sharp, gruff voice abruptly brought the Starman's thoughts back to the present. Samurai Goroh stood there, holding an odd colored liquid in a glass with a straw and umbrella, impatience tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I said, move," he grunted. "You're in my spot."

The Starman turned slightly, sensing the man's thoughts but seemingly unwilling to face him directly. "Samurai Goroh," it said in lieu of a greeting, its telepathic voice cold and detached as usual.

But the samurai, it seemed, was not too keen on small talk. "What're you even doing up here, anyways?"

The Starman was silent as it processed Goroh's question. What're you even doing up here, anyways?

What are you doing up here?

What are you doing here?

It continued to stand and stare rigidly into the horizon. It was no longer engrossed in its own memories, but a new question, one it had kept down for a long time, had begun to ferment and fester and bristle in its mind.

When the Starman was created, its purpose was to serve Giygas. This it knew.

Thanks to the efforts of the Chosen Four, Giygas was gone. This much was certain.

So then, if its purpose was to serve Giygas, and Giygas was gone, then what was its purpose?

Its purpose was to fight, to assist the fighters in the tournament. Use the power instilled in its core to assail and lay waste to any and all who would stand in its path.

But that was different. Assisting was its mission, its duty. But there had to be something more than that. Why would Master Hand choose it specifically? If it had no purpose, then… then why was it here?

Why was it here?

Why was it here?

"…Why am I here?"

Goroh frowned. "Why're you repeating what I just said?"

The Starman levitated itself to face the racer directly, a fairly laborious process, given that it was so used to teleporting to move around. Samurai Goroh took a step back, wary as to where the conversation was going.

"What is my purpose?"

Goroh blinked. "Your what, now?"

"My purpose."

The samurai opened his mouth to say that its purpose was to get out of his way because it was in his spot, if you please, but quickly shut it as he realized just what the Starman meant. "Like, your life's purpose, or…?"

"Yes." Despite the impassive tone of its voice, there was still a hint of patronization in the Starman's answer.

Samurai Goroh exhaled. "I dunno, I—I dunno. I don't know why you're asking me the existential questions all of a sudden." He paused, noticing the way the Starman was looking at him, almost expectantly. "I don't know! Do I look like a self-help book? Jeez!"

The Starman sighed, as much as a robotic alien could sigh. "I see." A new wind blew by, taking some stray leaves with it. "I suppose it was absurd, coming to someone of your way of thinking for such answers." When Goroh did not respond, it continued. "At any rate, I must be going now. Farewell." And by that sendoff, the Starman disappeared, a small spark traveling along the ground the only hint it had ever been there.

Samurai Goroh huffed as he took his seat in his ambiguously rightful spot. "Yeah, whatever," he grouched, taking a sip of his drink. "Weirdo robot, asking me about its place in the universe or whatever… I mean, honestly… it was absurd to ask me about something like that…"

…

…

Samurai Goroh suddenly got up, throwing his drink to the ground.

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?!"

The Starman rematerialized in the mansion halls, just a few paces away from the main lounge. Its door was open just enough to see that the room seemed empty, but a quick telepathic probe told it otherwise; namely, that there were in fact three people in the room. In fact, it hadn't even needed to probe, for a certain high-pitched voice was resonating from inside.

"Oh, Dinobeast was very big, fifteen Rikis tall! Riki's sidekicks were very worried!" declared the voice. "But no need to worry! Heropon stepped forward to save day!"

The Starman teleported a bit further into the room to get a better look. The star-like creature Starfy was present, sitting next to the Sablé Prince. Both children were listening intently to the story being told by a short, plump, egg-shaped creature with wing-like appendages, evidently Riki, wearing a vest and carrying a strange weapon on his back.

"Dinobeast was very tricky," continued Riki, pantomiming the vicious beast he spoke of. "Very strong, too. But Heropon was trickier and stronger! Riki swing and miss! Dinobeast miss and swing! Dinobeast right on top of Riki!" Starfy and the Sablé Prince leaned in, hanging on to every word.

"But Riki was not afraid. Not one bit! Heropon wait, and sidekicks work together to distract Dinobeast. Then, Dinobeast's back is turned, and…" Riki paused for dramatic effect, letting his audience absorb his words. "Riki deal decisive, finishing blow! Nyakapow!" He took out his weapon and swung it down on the floor as though he were smiting the world's smallest Dinobeast.

Starfy vigorously applauded, while the Sablé Prince simply looked confused. "Hmm… that's not what happened the way Dunban told it."

"Oh, really?" asked Riki, turning to the young prince. "What did Dun-Dun say?"

"If I recall correctly, he said you got knocked out and that a girl by the name of Melia finished it off."

Riki faltered, but only for a moment. "Ah! Well, yes, er—Riki was…" He coiled a loose string on his vest around his finger. "Riki was simply playing dead! Let sidekicks have time in the spotlight! Uhm…"

Neither members of the audience seemed particularly convinced.

"Well!" said Riki, clapping his hands together. "Riki suppose that's enough storytelling for one day." He picked up his weapon. "Heropon has a very busy day ahead of him."

Starfy got up. "Thank you for the storytime!" he chirped as he bowed slightly. He toddled out of the lounge, with the Sablé Prince following close behind. Neither of them gave the Starman a second glance as they left.

As Riki began to gather his things, his gaze flicked upwards to meet the alien that had been in the room all this time. He leapt back a bit in surprise as he registered that the Starman was present. "A-ah! Starman! Come for Riki's storytelling time?"

The Starman teleported further into the room, now standing in the center. "Riki," it intoned by way of greeting.

The Nopon shifted from foot to foot. "Ah… hello."

The Starman simply stood there, studying Riki. With his simple clothing, small stature, and weapon that looked largely ineffective, his appearance alone cast doubt on the story. But then again, it supposed, Riki did seem fairly driven, and perhaps it could get some answers from him about who it was, and why it was here. It couldn't hurt to ask. "This Dinobeast… you claim to have slain it?"

Riki perked up a bit. "Oh, yes!" he declared, saluting with one of his wings. "Riki fought tough battle, but thanks to Riki's sidekicks, we win!"

"I see." The Starman cogitated on Riki's words. "This is your purpose, then?"

Riki blinked. "…What?"

"Your purpose."

"I…" Riki scratched the side of his head. "Riki is not sure what friend means."

The Starman was silent for a moment. "Your purpose," it repeated. "Based on your story, your purpose in your world would be to vanquish your enemies? To lay waste to beasts that are larger than yourself for the thrill of battle?"

Riki's eyes widened as the meaning behind the Starman's words dawned on him. "Ahhh. Starman asks if Riki fights for personal gain?" He shook his head. "No. That not Riki's purpose."

"Then what is?" asked the Starman.

The Nopon sighed as he waddled over to a chair to sit. "Riki was chosen as Heropon by chief of village. At that time, Riki had large debt to village. If Riki defeat Dinobeast, debt will be repaid. With help of friends, Riki beat Dinobeast and repay debt! …But then Riki have new debt, and chief send Riki on new adventure with friends to repay new debt!" His gaze grew distant. "Riki saw many things on adventure. Met many new people. Fought many bad guys, too. Not at all what Riki expected. The adventure was much bigger than Riki thought. Bigger than debt, bigger than village, bigger than Dinobeast, maybe even bigger than Bionis… Was much more about Shulk and Dundun."

"Then why?" asked the Starman. "Why continue if you had no personal investment in the journey?"

"Two reasons." Riki gave a faint, but tender smile. "One—friend no leave friend behind. Riki was scared, terrified. But Shulk is Heropon's friend, and Heropon no leave friends behind, no matter what. Two—to protect wifeypon and littlepon." He glanced briefly at the window. "Hom Hom friends fight to make their own future. Riki fight for his own future, too. But mostly, Riki fight to secure littlepon's future. That is Riki's purpose." The Nopon slid off the chair and made to depart. "Riki hope that answer question. If not, then perhaps Starman can find answers by itself." And with those words, Riki left to leave the Starman alone in the lounge.

The alien stood there, staring at the spot where the Nopon once stood. Riki's words echoed inside its head until there was just a dull ache. He had spoken so earnestly, with such conviction that that was his goal, his purpose in life, the reason he was alive. A storm of emotions brewed in its brain—envy, envy at Riki for being so sure of his place in his world, for having a purpose; fear, fear of lacking purpose and of an unneeded existence, alone in that endless void; and yearning, yearning for a reason for being, a true purpose.

Purpose…

"What is my purpose…?" asked the Starman aloud.

No one answered.

The Starman bowed ever so slightly, replaying its conversation with Riki again. What had he said? Hom Hom friends fight to make their own future… He spoke of that young man with the red sword it had seen just that day. He had gotten up and seized his own destiny. So then…

At once, something inside the Starman clicked. Its internal circuitry hissed, and it straightened up. It felt as though a mind boggling puzzle had finally been solved.

"If I am not given a purpose… I shall simply find one."

The Starman teleported out of the lounge, leaving no indication it had ever been inside.

When the Starman reappeared, it found itself in a hallway on the first floor. The wooden floors, once pristine and new like a well-pressed suit and tie on the first day of a new job, were now dulled and creaking, speckled with the age-old muddy footprints of those that traversed the corridors. There was no sound, save for the gentle hum of machinery coming from another room.

The Starman drew closer, peering further into the room. It was cramped, dusty, and the singular light bulb that hung from the ceiling was dim, which, combined with the graying walls and flooring, made the room seem much darker than it was. Stacks of letters were arranged neatly by a mail chute, which periodically coughed out more letters into a pile. A bulletin board, ever so slightly crooked, displayed in multicolored but faded letters:

Plea_e ke_p our mailroo_ tidy!

A lone figure wearing a green jacket was sitting in a chair slumped over a desk, their shoulders rhythmically rising and falling. A stainless steel thermos lay next to them, dripping with coffee.

The Starman scanned the area with its psychic powers, recognizing the figure as Nikki, another of its fellow assistants. She was clearly asleep, judging on how she hadn't even moved as the Starman entered the room. The mail chute groaned as it spat out yet more letters, threatening to spill them out onto the floor.

It did not seem prudent, reasoned the Starman, to fall asleep in such a place. The mail would be backed up, and the dust would be detrimental to her health. Or at least, so it assumed, as it personally didn't need to breathe. So, it extended its telepathic powers to make contact with her mind (a relatively easy task, given that she was asleep), and—

"Awaken."

"Gwuh-huh?" Nikki twitched and rose, the skin on her face peeling off the desk. "Yeah, I'm… I'm running the mail as fast… as fast I…" She yawned and groggily rubbed at her eyes. "I'm taking my break now, so…" She finally straightened up and turned to meet the cold, expressionless visor of the Starman, a foot away from her face.

"Nikki."

"Oh, sh—!" Nikki nearly fell out of her chair. "Wh-what the—Starman?!" She paused to regain her breath. "I was gonna say 'sheet'—I mean—how—" She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Starman, what in the world are you doing here?"

"I have come seeking my purpose." The Starman stood straight and tall, the scant light in the room glinting off its steel body.

"Your purpose." repeated Nikki, adjusting her red-rimmed glasses.

"Yes."

Nikki opened her mouth, closed it, and decided she was not feeling particularly curious that day. "Okay. Okay." She looked around the mailroom, her eyes falling on the pile of letters on the desk. "You can start by putting those into the sorting station." She gestured at a desk with shelves stacked almost to the ceiling. "Just look at where they're addressed, and put them into the matching slot."

"Affirmative." The Starman teleported over to the sorting station and telekinetically picked up a letter addressed to someone living in the far-off land of Shiveria and placed it on a shelf with a mushroom symbol attached to it.

Nikki nodded in acknowledgement and turned back to her desk. The two worked in silence for a while, the only sound being the mail chute sending down more letters.

"…So, uhm, Starman," began Nikki in an attempt to make conversation. "You're here to 'seek your purpose'?"

"Yes." The Starman did not turn around from its station.

"Mm-hmm." Nikki tapped her fingers together. "So you came here?"

"Correct."

"Ah. Okay then." She paused. "I, uh, I really do appreciate you coming to help me. It's not as hectic as it was during the Smash Ballot—" she suppressed a small shudder— "but it still gets pretty busy, what with people sending letters to and from their homes. So, y'know, thanks for helping!"

The Starman did not respond. Somehow, the room got even quieter.

Nikki fiddled with the temple of her glasses. She was tangentially familiar with the Starman, enough to know who it was and what it did in its home world, and based on what she'd heard, it mostly left others alone, choosing to stay in some corner at socials. To see it come to the mailroom, with no hint of malicious intent, asking about its purpose, was very weird indeed. At that moment, Nikki decided that she was, in fact, feeling curious that day.

"…Do you want to know what my purpose is?" she asked.

That got the Starman's attention. "Your purpose?" repeated the Starman.

Nikki nodded, turning in her chair that the Starman realized at that moment was a swivel chair. "Do you know why I took this job?"

"It is your purpose," answered the Starman immediately.

"I'm getting to that part!" laughed Nikki. "I've always… I've always held this fascination with handwritten letters. Like, where I'm from, most people text or send emails if they want to communicate." She stood up from her chair. "That someone will take time out of their day to sit down and write how they feel with a pen and paper, write down their perspectives in a material form… that feeling is just unparalleled.

"Letters will travel thousands upon thousands of miles to reach who they're addressed to," continued Nikki, gesturing at the fortuitous letters that spilled from the chute. "Even farther than that in this world. It's so… relieving, to me, that all across different walks of life, people want to continue the art of writing personal, intimate correspondence like this. I feel… I feel like it's like keeping a little piece of your life, documented on paper." Her eyes shone with conviction and hope. "That's what I think I'm here for. People appreciate these things, and I want to make sure they show their innermost feelings, no matter who or where they are! Because it just makes me feel fulfilled, you know?"

The room was very quiet. The Starman stared at a letter it was levitating, addressed to Pastoria City. It did not look at Nikki, but it paid close attention to her every word.

"Ah, but listen to me," said Nikki, flopping back in her swivel chair. "Rambling on like that when there's work to be done. Sorry for bothering you!"

"No," said the Starman, putting the letter in its appropriate slot. "It was very helpful."

Nikki bowed her head in response. "Well, I'm glad I was able to answer your question." She turned back to her desk in her chair. "Guess it's back to work for us, then!"

But work would have to wait, for at that moment a bell mounted high on the wall rang in a peal, signalling the beginning of lunch break. Nikki sighed and wiped at the lens of her glasses. "Oh, thank heavens, finally." She took out a lunchbox and turned to the Starman. "So, what are you having?"

"I do not need to eat," said the Starman. It teleported away from the sorting station, reappearing near the door. "I must be going now."

Nikki paused as she lifted a forkful of risotto to her mouth. "Ah… you're leaving already?"

"Yes." The Starman remained by the door. "This mail sorting… it is not sure if it is my purpose. Possibly. Possibly not. But, if nothing else, your words have given me a hint as to where my own purpose may lie."

Nikki stared at the robot for a bit. "Not for you, huh? Well, I guess that's fair. Uhm… good luck seeking your purpose, I suppose!"

The Starman did not respond. It lingered at the door for a moment, then teleported away, leaving Nikki alone in the mailroom.

Nikki sighed lightly as she turned back to her desk. Her eyes widened slightly as she glanced at the sorting station and noticed that each piece of mail that had dropped in was neatly piled in a slot. She was abruptly struck by the feeling that she didn't know the Starman at all. She found herself wondering if anybody, even Ness and Jeff, truly did.

…

Maybe. Maybe not. But, she supposed as she sipped from her thermos, perhaps it wouldn't hurt to try someday.

The Starman reappeared on the second floor. The hallway was empty, save for a passing Mii, idly sweeping at a corner. The window next to the Starman was open, bringing in both a refreshing flow of air and a steady stream of sunlight. On the far side of the hall was a set of French doors that led out to a balcony overlooking the side of the building, from which anyone could sit and observe the hustle and bustle from above. One of the doors had been left slightly ajar, indicating that someone was currently doing just that.

Teleporting closer, the alien paused just in front of the door to observe the observer. The figure was facing away from the Starman, unmoving and focused on something below, but there was no mistaking the red armor and long blond ponytail that blew dramatically behind him, even in the light breeze that would barely carry a stray leaf on the ground.

"Zero."

The robot lifted his head at the sound of his name. He whirled around, Z-Saber in hand, but relaxed slightly when he saw the speaker. "Oh… Starman," he said in lieu of a greeting. "I didn't really expect to see you here. Do you need anything?"

"What are you doing?" asked the Starman, skipping any and all pleasantries.

Zero frowned slightly, either at his question being answered with another question or at his own answer. "I've been… people-watching." Somehow, the word people did not sound plural at all. "Mostly to see if there's any trouble around."

"I see." The Starman teleported and reappeared right in front of the railing, gazing down at the people below. "May I join you?"

"I… suppose." If Zero was annoyed by the Starman inviting itself in, he didn't show it. After a brief pause he simply returned to his post on the balcony right next to the alien to regard the pedestrians below.

The path, they observed, was very busy that day. Marth was present, walking along in a serious conversation with Meta Knight. To their left, Bowser strolled past with his son, who held a large lollipop shaped oddly like Mario's head, biting off an ear with a crunch. Off to the side, Yuri Kozukata sat in the grass, idly tinkering with her camera. But what caught Zero's attention the most was an older man in a lab coat walking very quickly past the scene, with hands in his pockets and eyes shifting furtively to and fro, as if he was worried that anyone else present would suddenly strike at him.

The Starman beheld the scene laid before it. Nothing really seemed out of place or peculiar. But Zero, it noted, seemed to think otherwise. It didn't need a mental probe to sense the mistrust coming off him. His mouth was drawn into a thin straight line, his eyes were narrowed, and his hands were holding onto the railing in a vicelike grip. The Starman had only picked up on such animosity once before, on the face of Master Giygas' lieutenant as he glowered from within his spider-shaped mech.

But this was not the time to ponder such things. Instead, it opted to simply get what it came here for.

"Zero."

Zero blinked, snapping out of his ponderings. "Hm?"

"What is your purpose?"

"My purpose?"

"Yes."

Zero turned back to the railing. "To strive for peace between humans and Reploids," he replied almost automatically. "To vanquish evil, wherever it may be." He frowned slightly, noticing that Dr. Wily was no longer in sight. "Wherever it may be…"

"I see." The two sat together in thoughtful silence.

…

…

"We are quite alike, you and I."

Zero turned to the Starman. "Hm?"

"We are both robots."

Zero nodded in acknowledgement. "That we are," he hummed.

"Yes."

"Mmm."

There was a silence as this knowledge set in. A stray breeze blew past, the branches of the tree nodding sagely.

"My creator… is no longer with us," said the Starman suddenly. "Without him, I now lack purpose. Without him… I am nothing."

"Oh," mumbled Zero. "I'm… I'm sorry."

"It is alright," replied the Starman. "It was a long time ago."

The balcony suddenly became very quiet. The Starman continued to stare fixedly at nothing in particular.

"What about you?" asked the Starman. "The being that created you… do they still live?"

Zero did not respond. "You said you were looking for a purpose?" he asked instead.

"Yes."

"Well, let me give you some advice, if you'll let me." He, too, stared out over the balcony into the middle distance. "I don't really know much about your creator, but… you can't tie your sense of self to whoever they were."

There was yet more silence. The Starman bent down ever so slightly.

"It's… it's just…" Zero gestured with his hands, trying to find the right words. "Like, your creator instilled that programming in you, and now they're dead. But… the fact they're dead doesn't mean you have to be stagnant. Am… Am I making sense so far?"

"Yes," said the Starman, its voice suddenly very quiet. "Please continue."

Zero nodded. "What I'm trying to say is… you're more than just your programming. You don't have to stick by who told you to do what. That's the beauty of this world. You can carve out your own destiny, no matter what that may be. All you have to do is ask yourself: 'Who am I, and what do I want?'"

The Starman was now fully facing Zero, studying him with an unreadable expression. "I see."

"…I mean, that's just my way of seeing it," added Zero. "Like, it's different for different kinds of people. But I hope it helps, at least."

"It did," said the Starman. "Thank you, Zero."

The android gave a small smile in response. "Well. Glad I was able to."

Feeling that there was nothing else to say, the Starman teleported back to the French doors. "Oh, are you leaving?" asked Zero.

"Yes," answered the Starman. "I believe I know where to go next. Farewell, Zero."

Zero simply waved as the Starman teleported away to parts unknown. He didn't really know much about the Starman, only that it was a soldier of some creator that was presumably defeated a long time ago. He hoped that it would be able to find its own purpose, hopefully as a force for good.

…

Zero, on the other hand, knew exactly what his purpose was.

To vanquish evil, wherever it may be…

And luckily for him, he also knew exactly where evil would be.

"Mark my words, doctor… whatever you're planning, you won't get away with it."

Outside, the day had turned so peaceful, even the birdsong seemed a bit more soothing. In the courtyard, Spring Man, Isaac, and Phosphora were lying face-up in the grass, staring up at the sky and having a chinwag with each other.

"And, you know, to this very day, we never were able to get the shoe polish off that wall," concluded Isaac, finishing off a really rather riveting tale. "Dr. Wright ended up just hanging a painting over that spot."

"Really?" asked Phosphora, blowing aside a leaf that had landed on her forehead. "You'd think he'd pick something a little more… stylish?"

Isaac could only shrug. "Well, what can you do? He's never really had a good eye for art. He's always been more of a practicality-first type of guy."

"I know this girl," put in Spring Man. "Twintelle. You've probably seen her around. She's like, the exact opposite of that. Like, super stylish. She'd have probably redecorated the whole room around that stain, and then some."

Phosphora grinned. "Wow, I— oh, gods. Oh, imagine her with Shadow and Shovel Knight and they had to redo that little room they did!"

Isaac smiled, gazing up at a passing cloud. "Like, she'd probably get silk curtains—"

"And they're black!" said Phosphora. "To reflect his tortured soul," she added in a voice that only partly resembled that of the hedgehog in question, and greatly resembled that of Ganondorf with a sore throat.

Spring Man chuckled. "And then, like, vinyl flooring all over!"

"Do you think Shadow has a leather couch?"

"Ooh, ooh! What if those little Nookling kids join in—"

"And they put it all nice and cute—"

"Like a little dollhouse!"

The image of Shadow the Hedgehog, sitting cross-legged on a leather couch with black silk curtains caused Isaac to dissolve into a giggling fit, which in turn caused Phosphora to burst in her own gales of laughter, and Spring Man, too, began to laugh as only he could, unrestrained and spirited. The laughter died down as a wind picked up over the grass.

Isaac was the first to speak. "…Do you think we have a chance?"

Spring Man tilted his head. "What?"

"Y'know." Isaac rotated his hand as if waiting for Spring Man to finish the sentence. When he didn't, Isaac continued, "If we, like, have a chance to get in next time. Someday."

Spring Man was quiet for a moment. "Oh, yeah," he mumbled.

"Are you just saying that, or do you actually think any of us have a shot?" asked Isaac.

"Ah…" Spring Man opened his mouth to say something, but just as quickly shut it. "I mean, you definitely have a chance! You're pretty popular nowadays! And I kinda have a shot, also! And—and Phosphora, she… she could…"

He trailed off as reality set in. "Um. I mean…"

"Nope," said Phosphora, saying aloud what no one else wanted to admit.

"I—I mean, you could!" stammered Spring Man. "Like, if the higher-ups really—"

But Phosphora simply waved the spring-armed man off, her face hidden at that angle. "Nah, nah, it's fine. I know I'm pretty low on the social ladder. They'd sooner dig up Hades or Medusa than go for me."

There was a long, solmen pause. Isaac, feeling unsure of himself for some reason, chose to busy himself by playing with a blade of grass by his left eye.

"…Gods. Imagine if Waluigi gets in before any of us," said Phosphora at last. "Can you just imagine?"

Isaac gagged, a not entirely voluntary action. "Ugh, please don't. He'd be even more unbearable than he usually is."

Spring Man toyed with his pompadour. "I hate to say it, but… yeah. He'd… he wouldn't be classy about it at all."

"Mmm." A thought occurred to Isaac. "Imagine if, like, Flies and Hand or the Burrowing Snagret got in."

Phosphora bit back a snort of laughter. "Oh, geez! I'd enjoy that for the look on his stupid face alone."

"I mean, Flies and Hand has a flyswatter. It's basically a swordfighter already!"

"Like Duck Hunt 2.0!"

"Yeah, but the Burrowing Snagret, though… that would be genuinely kinda cool. I could dig it."

Another pause. Then—

"Wait."

"You—"

"Aaayyyyy—"

They all shared a laugh, even Phosphora in spite of herself. The clouds drifted lazily by.

The Starman reappeared in a flash on the third floor. The late-afternoon sun shone on the hall, bathing it in a soft orange light. Zero's words still weighed heavily on its mind, the question impatiently buzzing in its processor. Who am I, and what do I want?

I am Starman.

I want…

I want…

…

…What do I want?

The sunlight streamed golden through the window.

I want…

I want…

…

To feel… needed.

I want to be needed.

I want to feel useful. To be useful.

To be…

The Starman shuddered. In serving Giygas, it had been useful, needed, even crucial. But here, it was… it was still very useful, but there was something missing, some aspect its previous work had that its daily tasks lacked.

Nikki's words rose to the surface of its memory. I want to make sure they show their innermost feelings, no matter who or where they are! Because it just makes me fulfilled…!

…

Unfulfilled. That's what it was.

In that brief moment, the Starman decided it would rather face one thousand of the Chosen Four than feel like this again.

The Starman teleported away, the small spark betraying its location traveling quicker than before, more erratic and almost panicked in its movement. It did not know where it was going, only that it needed to be somewhere, anywhere, somewhere where it could be useful, practical, handy, of service, productive.

I want to feel needed. I need to feel needed.

The Starman reappeared in an area that was technically familiar to it, but it had never truly noticed until now. Music that it couldn't quite catch floated out from behind the glass doors in front of it, leading to a large room, its walls lined to shelves filled with strange hats, colorful costumes, rows and rows of comestibles of all shapes and sizes, and cases of compact discs marked with odd symbols and unfamiliar-looking people.

It teleported further inside to investigate. It was a lively tune playing from the speakers above, an upbeat, jazzy theme with a piano as the leading melody. One of the CD covers held an image of a white dog, sitting on a tree stump and playing a guitar.

"Dum-de-dum-dum da-da-da-da-da da-dee-dum-dee-dum… do do do do hmm hmm hmm da-dee-da-dee-da…"

The sound took the Starman by surprise, but only for a brief moment. To its left, long pink ears, bobbing to and fro and twitching rhythmically, could be seen just behind a row of cat-shaped hoods.

The Starman teleported a bit closer. Sure enough, Baito was there, his back turned, humming softly as he readjusted a line of foodstuffs.

"Baito."

The rabbit leapt up in fright, a quick movement of his paws saving the snacks from tumbling to the floor. "D'whuhuh?! Who's—?!" He spun around to see the Starman, standing rigidly in front of him. "Oh—oh. Um, hi, Starman!" Baito clutched his chest. "Kinda caught me by surprise there…"

The Starman did not respond.

"So, uh, what brings you here?" asked Baito. "Buying something? Perusing our wares? Ooh! Or maybe you're here to try out one of the old badge catchers?" He gestured eagerly towards a crane machine in the corner, its paint slightly faded by the passage of time.

"No."

"…Oh. Well, why are you here, then? Ahhh, not that I don't want you here, no! You're always welcome here! It's just that you, like, never actually come in, so I was just—"

"I want," said the Starman, cutting off Baito's rambling, "to be useful."

Baito blinked, not expecting to be interrupted, especially not with such a response. "You wha?"

"I want to be useful."

The rabbit's shoulders slumped. "…Are you asking if you can help me, or…?"

"If that is the way to be of use again, then yes."

Baito clapped his paws together. "Okay!" he said at last, not feeling the least bit disturbed. "Well, um, you can start by…" He shaded his face with an ear as he scanned the store. "Oh! You can start by bringing in some CDs from the back." He gestured to a set of blue doors. Just a box or two should do."

Without another word, the Starman teleported away, and reemerged in the back room. It was dusty, but not quite as much as it was in the mailroom. It suddenly occurred to the Starman that this was most likely what Baito was doing when not helping the Smashers during a battle. From what it could gather based on his attitude, he seemed very excited about his line of work.

He, at least, seems to know his purpose.

But this was not the time to ponder such things. There was work to be done. The Starman telekinetically picked up a box and teleported back into the main area.

When it reappeared, it noticed Baito waving goodbye to Olimar and three Pikmin, the former holding a bundle of snacks in his arms and the latter each carrying a golden ticket.

"I have retrieved the box," the Starman announced, gently depositing it in front of Baito.

"Great!" Baito snapped his fingers. He carefully peeled off the tape sealing the box and lifted out a piece of its contents. "Ooh, Jump Up, Super Star! That's a good one!"

The Starman peered inside. The cover depicted a woman with flowing brown hair wearing a sparkling red halter dress with a matching hat, singing in front of a microphone to an unseen crowd.

"It's one of the hottest songs to come from the Metro Kingdom!" explained Baito. "The mayor Pauline and her band play every year at the New Donk City Festival! The last time they did it, Mario was there, and they really rolled out the red carpet for him!" The rabbit's eyes shone with admiration. "Ohmigosh. If Pauline came into the shop one day, I don't know what I'd do!" To the Starman's mild disbelief, Baito began to float a few inches off the ground, surrounded by a heavenly aura, pure bliss etched onto his face. "I might faint!"

"You feel very fervently about this subject," observed the Starman.

"Yep!" replied Baito proudly. "Stuff like this is my passion! When I hear about these guys and all their feats, I just get so psyched up!" There was a certain fire in the rabbit's eyes, the same light the Starman had seen in Nikki and Zero.

"I see." The two were quiet for a moment, the New Donk chorus filling the space between.

"This is your purpose, then."

Baito placed his paws behind his head. "Well, I uh… you could say that, yeah!"

The Starman remained silent. The music above changed pitch as it neared its end.

"So… what's your purpose in life?" asked Baito.

The Starman bent down slightly, choosing to focus on the floor. "I… do not know."

"Well, that's fine, too," said the rabbit. "Just keep looking, and I'm sure you'll find it!"

"I have searched most of the day," said the Starman, straightening up once again. "I assist the Smashers when called upon. I have asked myself what fulfills me. I have asked myself what I want. Analyzing this, I have come to the conclusion that what I want most is—"

"To feel useful," said Baito at the same time as the Starman.

The Starman gazed into the distance. "I served Master Giygas long ago. He's gone now. I don't… I feel so empty now." It sighed, a strange metallic sound. "Without Master Giygas, I feel unneeded. I just want… to feel needed, I suppose. To feel useful. To be useful."

"So you came here," said Baito after a pause.

"Correct."

Baito thought for a moment. "You say your purpose is to help people, right?"

"I want to feel useful."

"Well, you can just work here!" declared Baito. "You can be, like, the new part-timer!"

"Work… here?" repeated the Starman.

Baito nodded. "Yeah! You said you wanted to feel useful, right? Well, what's more useful than helping around the Trophy Shop?"

"Trophies are no longer sold here," said the Starman.

"It's a catchy name!" said Baito with an impatient wave of his paw. "I know it's not the most glamorous thing in the world, but you'd still be helping, even if it's just a little place like this!" He paused, waiting for an answer, and continued when none came. "Don't worry. I'll teach you everything I know. And I don't like to toot my own horn, but I know a lot! Ooh!" he said, pounding a fist into his open palm. "Maybe you could be like one of those information kiosks! Whaddya say?"

The Starman stared at Baito's extended paw for a long time. It was not the transcendental greater purpose that it had under Master Giygas, nor was it the newer purpose that it had imagined. Even now, something nagged at its central processor to refuse its offer.

…

But what other choice did it have?

"Very well."

"Awesome!" exclaimed Baito, still holding out his extended arm.

…

…

"I am physically incapable of shaking your hand," said the Starman.

"…Ah." Baito sheepishly pulled his arm back. "I thought that was just a thing you did. But still, this is amazing! You're a part of the team now!" he exclaimed, clapping both his hands and his ears at once. The Starman thought it wise not to question this. "Now that you're technically official, let me give you a welcome gift!" He produced a marker and name tag from his pocket and began to write. Once done, he stuck it on the Starman's body, just opposite of the black markings. "There you go! Welcome aboard, Starman!"

The Starman stared at its name tag, and at Baito's eager face. "This is gonna be one of those mutually beneficial situations, I promise. You'll be a real big help, I can tell!"

A big help…

"Well, now that you're working for me…" Baito stroked his chin. "Your first duty is to get the large snacks from the backroom. They're big and red, so they're hard to miss. Let's go! Hop to it, now!"

Baito had no sooner given the instructions than the Starman had dutifully teleported away. The dust on the stone ground of the back room barely moved as it reappeared.

…

Would this be fulfilling? Possibly. Possibly not.

But at the very least, the Starman felt truly useful, truly needed. Simply put, it finally had a proper purpose.

For now, this would do. Possibly for now, possibly for a long time to come.

Chapter Text

Once again, night had fallen on the World of Trophies. The pale crescent moon shone like a silver claw in the sky, the stars filling the space around like seeds on fresh fertile ground. The night breeze carried with it an uncertain aroma, a smell that was both familiar and strange, both comforting and unsettling at once.

It was on that night that a certain robot was marching brusquely down a certain desolate and near-abandoned hallway. Z-Saber at the ready and eyes stern, he walked with the intention of someone who was going to get what they wanted, no matter what stood in their way. The floorboards creaked under his weight, and his Z-Saber glowed with a soft hum, but they had already faded to background noise in his audio receptors. This particular hallway was quiet, and he had been tracking Dr. Wily for at least two minutes now.

Zero had gotten up the moment he had heard the doctor's hurried footsteps pass his room, barely catching a glimpse of his white lab coat turning a corner. He had tried his best to keep him in sight as he tailed him, up a flight of stairs, past the foyer, around a shady corner or two. Once again, Wily seemed oddly tense that night, frantically checking his surroundings and mopping at his brow. Occasionally, he could hear him muttering something under his breath, sentiments he couldn't properly hear at this distance. The closest he could glean was something that sounded vaguely like "robots" and "Mother Brain".

Zero's eyes narrowed. It didn't take much thought to have a vague idea as to what he was planning. But he couldn't confront him about it. Not yet.

At the next corner, Zero paused, waiting for Wily's next move. And to his mild shock, the doctor was not alone.

Nightmare floated there just beside the door, his very presence creating a cold chill in the corridor, even with all the windows shut. The glow of the moon cast an eerie light on the encounter. From what Zero could see, not even Wily was expecting this, stopping short and making an odd sound like he was choking on a dog's squeeze toy.

"Albert," said Nightmare by way of greeting.

Dr. Wily found his voice. "N-Nightmare," he coughed in reply.

Zero crouched behind the corner as he observed the scene. Neither Wily nor Nightmare said anything. The hallway was dead quiet, so much so that Zero swore he could hear the doctor swallow.

At last, Dr. Wily straightened out his coat, cleared his throat, and hastily dipped into the doorway. Nightmare lingered there at the entrance, the moonlight playing off his sunglasses in a peculiar manner. He did not move his gaze from where Wily stood.

Suddenly feeling unprotected, Zero fully retreated behind the corner. He waited there, back pressed to the wall, and the grip on his Z-Saber growing tighter.

Nobody, neither a deadly robot nor unearthly phantom, arrived to confront him. The cold wind died away.

Zero's body slackened as he let out a huge breath. He chanced another peek around the corner. No one was present, the old wooden door closing with a soft click.

Finally. Now he could get some real answers. He crept up to the door, where voices drifted out from within.

"Well, well, well," came a commanding, almost mechanical female voice that Zero immediately recognized. "It seems that everyone is on time tonight."

Zero's free hand curled into a fist. So Mother Brain really was involved in this! But what was this? He moved closer to the door to hear better.

"But you, Albert," she continued. "I gave you specific instructions, clear enough that even the most simple of life forms could follow—"

Someone chuckled, cutting off her tirade. "Silence," she barked. The laughter stopped almost instantly.

Mother Brain continued. "I gave you explicit instructions, and you still have not made progress? Pray tell, what have you been doing?"

"It's not like I haven't been trying!" came the doctor's voice. "I have! It's just that—"

"Trying," repeated another voice, deep and gruff but still commanding respect. Zero could hear the sneer in his voice. "How long ago were your orders given? After all this time, human, you would still fail us? Hmph! You claim to be trying, but you still have nothing to show for it? Had you any resolve at all, you would have succeeded by now. I am beginning to wonder if the flesh-and-steel creature's decision to include you was a good idea."

"Oh, what did you expect?" said a third voice, smooth and dulcet, but sounding like something was kept hidden, like steel wrapped in silk. "You said it yourself, Devil. You know how humans can be."

That voice…! Zero stiffened. Ghirahim, too? Part of him wanted to break down the door and demand answers, but something told him that it wasn't the right time. He waited, teeth clenched in anticipation.

"Now, now, Ghirahim," came yet another voice, one that made Zero's circuits run cold, a voice that could only belong to Nightmare. "You may discredit Wily all you like, but I remain confident that he has spared no effort in achieving his goal. Surely, he has moved heaven and earth and explored every avenue to fulfill his duties… Isn't that right, Albert?"

The sound of Wily's breathing was long and ragged. "I—I, ah… well, yes, but—"

"Then why have you not yet stolen the mailing device?!" demanded Devil. "Where is your resolve?!"

Wily was dead quiet. Zero's knuckles went white.

Nightmare spoke up. "Clearly, the only possible explanation is that there is some sort of obstacle keeping him. Is that correct, Albert?" he asked in a manner that was too polite to be genuine. "Something or someone is keeping you?"

Dr. Wily found his voice, and subsequently his nerve. "I-it's Zero!" he admitted. "Every time I try, he's always there! It's like he's watching me or something?"

Hmph. You have no idea, Zero thought. So his suspicions had proved correct after all. He almost moved to open the door and make his presence known, but something told him that now was not the time. First he had to wait and get all the details.

"Ah, yes. Zero," murmured Devil. "The mechanical being in red armor. No doubt he would be a thorn in your side, human."

"I have read his file during my downtime," observed Mother Brain. "A robot designed to have free will and independent thought."

"Him?" sniffed Ghirahim. "That walking eyesore is what's gotten in your way?" He paused, presumably looking Wily up and down. "It's always you and robots, isn't it? Hmph. I suppose it's a step up from the boy."

"Have you ever come face to face with him?" snapped Dr. Wily. "You'll see that there's more to him than just another robot."

"But him?!" countered Ghirahim. "If it were that man in the black armor, or the weapon smith, or even that bothersome imp, it would be understandable, but him?! Of all people?!" He exhaled. "I knew you were weak-willed, but this is…"

"Come, Ghirahim," spoke Nightmare in a not-entirely-placating manner. "You have seen Zero on the battlefield, yes? Surely you have seen how swiftly he moves, how precise yet powerful his strikes? Such fierce swordplay… he lays waste to his foes with no hesitation. We would all do well, I think, to take a page from his book."

"Fierce swordplay, hmmm?" remarked Ghirahim, disdain palpable in his voice. "You're sure you haven't confused him with someone else?"

"I am simply making an observation," replied Nightmare coolly. "Rest assured that your skill with a blade is still unparalleled." He paused for a moment as everyone absorbed his words. "Ahh, but listen to me prattle on. We still have work to be done. And after all…

It's rude to gossip about someone who's listening."

Before Zero could properly process what he just heard, the old wooden door swung open of its own accord with a loud bang.

Mother Brain's singular eye widened in shock before turning on Dr. Wily. "You led him here?!" she hissed.

Dr. Wily, who had spent the last two seconds quivering in fear, jumped at the accusation. "I—I didn't—he followed—please—"

Zero quickly regained his composure. "What are you planning with the mailing device?" he demanded.

Ghirahim stood up, haughtily regarding the intruder. "What does it matter to you?" he shot back. "Leave if you wish to escape with that dreadful ponytail intact."

Zero chose to ignore the jab at his hair. His gaze traveled across the room, from Ghirahim's grimace, to Dr. Wily's cowering form, to Devil's cruel red eyes, to Mother Brain's enigmatic expression, to Nightmare's haggard grin. "I don't know what any of you are planning, but it ends tonight!" He stepped into the room and drew his Z-Saber for emphasis.

"Oh?" Ghirahim arched an eyebrow. "You're challenging me? Demon Lord Ghirahim?"

"All of you." Zero's voice did not waver.

Dr. Wily scampered into a corner as Ghirahim snapped his fingers, summoning a thin black saber of his own. Devil rose from his seat, his hands glowing with a dark energy. A few compartments opened up at the bottom of Mother Brain's casing. The door closed behind Zero.

For a moment, nobody moved. There was no sound, save for the drone of Mother Brain's support systems.

Ghirahim was the first to move, charging at Zero with blade drawn. It was easily parried and countered by three slashes of the Z-Saber, holding the demon lord back enough for Zero to push the advantage.

A glowing ring sped past Zero, clipping at his helmet. He whirled around and saw Mother Brain, her cerebrum pulsing hideously, as more rings flowed out from the compartment in the case. These, too, were easily dispatched, one such ring crashing into the case, a long thin crack sullying the pristine glass.

But Zero was barely given a moment's respite before yet more projectiles knocked at the back of his head. Ghirahim was back upon him, summoning glowing red daggers that flew at him in a line. As Zero slashed them away, his eyes fell on Dr. Wily, nervously watching the battle unfold from the corner.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, and Wily tried to dart away. His escape was not fated to last long, for Zero used the jets in his boots to catch up to him and seize him by the back of his jacket. The doctor yelped and thrashed about in his grip, which did nothing except make the man look even more foolish in the eyes of his collaborators.

The stern glare on Zero's face did not waver. "I'm going to ask you again. What are you planning to—"

A faint trickle of gold and red diamonds from above was the only warning Zero received. He rolled to his right to avoid Ghirahim's strike, dropping Wily in the process. The dark sword plunged into the floor with a dull thud, making the walls shake.

Zero recovered just in time to dodge a mass of dark energy swirling at him from Devil's position. Scowling, the demon flew up to the top of the room to rain down bolts of darkness on his target.

"No, you don't! Ryuenjin!" Zero leapt up to slash at Devil, his Z-Saber engulfed in flames. It was a direct hit, sending Devil crashing to the ground, right on top of Dr. Wily.

"G-aaack! Get off me!" cried Wily.

Devil growled, pulling the doctor out from under him and flinging him aside. "Make an attempt to be useful, human!"

Zero's gaze flicked left and right, unsure whether to go after Devil or Ghirahim. Deciding that the latter was the bigger threat at the moment, he charged forward, glowing sword pointing forward. Ghirahim answered by rushing towards the robot, pointing his own sword and being flanked by more red daggers.

Both blades locked in the center of the room, the force of the collision sending up sparks. They withdrew and clashed, retreated and advanced, again and again. Zero could feel a strange glow coming from behind him. Probably Devil using his magic again. He figured he could deal with it later.

They clashed once more, swords pointing upwards and faces mere inches apart. Both combatants were perfectly still. Then, Ghirahim smirked from beneath his white hair, and kicked Zero straight in the middle.

Zero was spent sprawling across the floor, but managed to catch himself by slamming the Z-Saber into the ground. "Is that the best you got?" he spat. "Genmu Zero!" He held his sword up and slashed it forward to fire a large, green, crescent-shaped beam forward.

Ghirahim, for his part, summoned more daggers to deflect the beam, but the beam carved through them to hit their master. The demon lord was sent flying across the room, hitting the wall and crumpling to the floor in an undignified heap.

Zero exhaled softly, staring down at his foe. He barely registered Dr. Wily crouching beside him, a mixture of awe and terror etched on his face. First, he had to make sure Ghirahim was down for the count. Then he could get answers. He marched towards him, Z-Saber glowing like never before to—

"Zero…"

He paused. Who said that? For some reason, it nagged at his memory in a way he couldn't describe. Anyway, it was time to—

"Zero… It's me… Zero…"

Zero felt his processor drop.

"Do you not recognize me…? Zero…"

He recognized that voice. How could he not, when it had haunted his dreams for so long? The room suddenly felt very dark.

"Zero…"

The voice was coming from behind him. Feeling like he was moving in slow motion, he turned to face the speaker.

A young girl stood there in the dark room some distance away from Zero. Her long brown hair was tied into a ponytail rivalling his own in length. Her armor was blue and red and closely resembled a dress, with a yellow hem. She was wearing a red beret, and although her head was lowered ever so slightly, there was no mistaking the hint of sad, gentle green eyes.

"…Iris?"

Iris did not look up. "What are you doing?" she asked.

Zero's face went pale. Perhaps it was exhaustion from the battle, but he suddenly felt very dizzy. "I… I…"

"What are you doing?" Iris repeated.

"I…" The room was pitch black. His voice was halting. "I was… Ghirahim, he was trying to…"

At last, Iris looked at him with those penetrating green eyes. Zero stiffened. A faint, wan smile played on her lips. "What's wrong? You look surprised to see me."

Zero swallowed. "You… Of course I am," he said, his voice in a whisper. "You're… On Final Weapon, I… I mean, you fused with Colonel and…" He stopped, biting his lip, but the rest of his sentence hung in the air.

"I died?" finished Iris, and Zero winced. "Of course I did." She spoke much too flippantly for someone under her circumstances. "Of course I died. You killed me, remember?" Her words certainly hit their target. Zero's gaze dropped to the floor. "Not only me, but my brother, too. Remember?"

It took some time for Zero to find his voice again. "You think I don't remember? Every night since that day, I've relived that painful memory again and again. I'm… I can't begin to say how sorry I am, Iris." The robot felt as tired as he sounded. He finally gathered up enough courage to look her in the eyes. "Every night, I think to myself that if I had done things differently, or if X was there, things wouldn't have gone the way they went…"

"All I ever wanted is to live in a world of only Reploids, Zero. To live in a world of peace with you… Was that so much to ask?"

Zero did not respond. A cold, cold wind blew through his ponytail.

Something imperceptible passed across Iris' face. "Zero…"

Tentatively, Zero took the smallest of steps forward. "Yes?"

"Zero… Look out, Zero…"

The Reploid blinked. "What?"

"Look out…! Zero…!"

It suddenly occurred to Zero where he was. He had followed Wily to a room, and he had fought with Ghirahim, and he had noted a strange glow right before he'd finished him off…

Wait a second…!

Amidst the blackness of the room, he barely made out the glint of moonlight against dark, crescent-shaped sunglasses and a wicked sharp-toothed grin.

The darkness was sucked away, like water down a drain, revealing many particles of light being sucked towards Mother Brain. Her cerebrum began to swell.

Zero's eyes went wide just in time for the glass of Mother Brain's casing to shatter as she unleashed a multicolored laser from her eye, trapping Zero in the blast. It was a miracle no one woke up from his pained scream that reverberated around the room and sounded down the hall. Through the agony, he wrenched his eyes open long enough to see Nightmare and Devil leering down at him, and Dr. Wily creeping out of the corner, looking very confident indeed.

The laser dissipated, and Zero dropped down on his face. His Z-Saber lay off to the side, forgotten in the carnage.

Zero struggled to get up, only managing a kneeling position. He glared up at Mother Brain, who stared contemptuously back down at him. "You won't… get away with this…" he gasped.

Before he could reach for his sword to continue the fight, he felt a sudden sharp pain in his middle, a pain that quickly gave away to a cold that felt like it was eating away at his very being.

At the very bottom of his vision, a long black saber poked out from his center, sparks angrily flying from the wound.

A fog settled over Zero's brain, making him feel very, very tired. "I can… still fight…" he muttered, slurring his syllables. "You can't get… get away…"

The sword was yanked out, metal cruelly scraping against metal. Zero's body convulsed as he gave one last gasp. Then, he fell to the ground, completely and utterly still.

Ghirahim sneered. "Hmph. Let that be a lesson to you," he hissed, wiping his blade clean of wires.

Devil, who had observed the scene as a bat, flew down and transformed back, calmly sitting down in his seat. "Indeed, he may have been made of metal, modeled after a mere human, but he was still every bit as weak as one."

Nightmare stroked his chin. "As I told you, Lord Ghirahim, your skill with a blade still remains incomparable. Although, it was a good thing I'd managed to probe Zero's memories to make a proper illusion. It's always those of loved ones that have passed on that make the best nightmares."

"Are we quite done self-congratulating?" asked Mother Brain. "Now that the… intrusion has been dealt with, we may move on to more pressing—Albert, what are you doing?"

Dr. Wily, who had gingerly stepped around the broken glass to examine Zero's body, let out a small surprised squeak. "I… I'm just making sure of some things!" He took out a strange tool from his pocket and scanned over Zero, the red light illuminating his lifeless features. He frowned as he noticed the exit wound. "Hmph. No reason to be so rough with him," he muttered. Sighing, he put the tool away. "Mercifully, he's not completely beyond repair…"

"And why, pray tell, do you care so much all of a sudden?" accused Devil. "Was it not a mere twenty minutes ago that you were quaking in your boots at mere mention of his name?"

"Well, yes, but… but he's still a robot!" Wily confessed. "I'm the leading mind in robotics in my world! Forgive me if I have a bit of a soft spot for them."

"A soft spot," repeated Mother Brain, contempt dripping from her voice. Wily shrank a little. "I do not know what things are like in your world, Albert, but in my world, soft spots for lesser creatures are the quickest way to get yourself killed. It is, as you say, survival of the fittest." Her gaze traveled to Zero, regarding him in a scrutinizing manner. "Nevertheless, and in spite of your previous failures, I believe that this is an opportunity from which we can all benefit. So then, Albert… what do you suggest we do with Zero?"

Dr. Wily stared down at Zero, his upper body cradled in his arms, face so peaceful in spite of the attacks he'd just suffered. A diabolical grin stretched his aging face. "I believe I have a brilliant idea. One that can put my skills to use, if you understand."

"I do understand," replied Mother Brain. "And it had better do so." She turned to the rest of the villains. "As for the rest of you, your orders remain unchanged. Be as discreet as possible. Meeting adjourned. By the next time we meet, hopefully some progress will have been made," she added, giving Dr. Wily a knowing look.

As the scoundrels went their separate ways, Dr. Wily dragged Zero's inanimate form out of the room and back towards his chambers. He sighed as he hefted the Reploid up a flight of stairs. "Well, well, well. You've certainly given me more than my fair share of trouble, haven't you?" he asked his traveling companion.

Zero did not respond.

"All those times you stopped me at a corner, hounding me for who knows how long… I wouldn't have worried so much if I had known this is how things would have gone!" He gave a soft sigh of relief as he reached his door. "Funny how things work out, eh?"

Gently closing the door behind him, he cleared off a table filled with blueprints of future projects and lay Zero down on it. "All the glory, all the fame, all the respect I so rightfully deserve… it's all within my grasp! And you'll be quite a big help in that regard." Dr. Wily took some tools out from a drawer, strapped on a pair of safety goggles, and loomed ominously over the motionless Zero.

"Look out, world… here comes Wily!"

A hoarse, baleful laugh sounded through the mansion as Wily began his work.

Chapter Text

On an otherwise unremarkable night, the Smash Mansion was dead quiet.

Not to say that silence was a rarity in that building. Quite the opposite, in fact. There was the peaceful quiet when one chose to step outside in the late springtime afternoons, the chirping of birds and the gentle breeze providing a relaxed ambience to watch the world go by. There was the thoughtful, introspective silence when a fighter slipped into an old, forgotten room (of which there was no shortage in the Smash Mansion) to stop and think on a past match, or to simply reflect on the events that had led them to that moment.

But this silence was different, neither serene nor contemplative. It was heavy and anticipatory, waiting for one's fate to be sealed, hoping and dreading the moment at once, with the feeling of a great iron ball in one's stomach.

That was the position that Master Hand and Crazy Hand found themselves in as they floated in their office, huddled around a laptop on the desk.

"How long are we gonna wait here for?" asked Crazy Hand after some time.

"In due time, brother," replied Master Hand, idly tapping his index finger on the desk. "I choose to maintain faith that all of our efforts will bear fruit."

Crazy Hand flopped down onto the floor and began to mirror the same finger-tapping action of his brother. "Oh, okay," he murmured. "It's just that, out of everyone we sent the invites to, this is the longest we've waited for any response."

"I am aware," replied Master Hand.

"And," continued the left hand, "that this particular universe was really hard to locate, let alone make contact with…"

"Yes."

"And everyone else up top seemed kinda scared of trying to send an invite to—"

"Scared isn't the word I would use here." Master Hand's tapping quickened in pace. "Doubtful, perhaps, or maybe hesitant—"

"Not to mention the legal nightmare the lawyers warned us about—"

"I know."

"They sure talked a lot. Something about 'opening the floodgates' to—"

"Oh, don't even get me started—"

"Not to mention that you, personally, seemed really disappointed the last time we tried—"

Master Hand abruptly stopped tapping on the desk. "What are you saying, brother?"

"Well…" Crazy Hand's fingers curled inwards slightly in what was his equivalent of a shrug. "You looked really down when you were told that he wasn't 'realizable' or whatever…"

Master Hand did not answer.

"It's just, you've put a lot of effort into this one last challenger, and, y'know… what if they say no?"

The right hand remained silent for a moment. "…They will not," he said at last, resuming his tapping.

Crazy Hand said nothing, simply returning to stare at the laptop screen. The seconds seemed to drag on for hours, the soft hum of the fluorescent lights seeming much louder than normal. Master Hand's tapping, meanwhile, steadily grew louder and quicker by the minute.

And still, there was no answer.

"You're getting agitated again."

Master Hand seemed ruffled at the very suggestion. "I am not," he said, keeping his voice even.

The left hand gave no response. Instead, he simply gestured downwards, specifically the spot where Master Hand was still drumming on the desk.

There was now a large fingertip-shaped dent on the surface.

A deep sigh escaped from Master Hand's… palm, and he sank lower to the ground in defeat. "Can you blame me for worrying? You know just as well as I do of this world's 'special circumstances', as it were. If we are to jump through all these hoops, I would much rather it not be all for naught."

"Not be all for naught," repeated Crazy Hand, amused by the rhyme. "But you know we have other choices, right? Like, we could still send something to—"

"I know we have other choices," said Master Hand with a curt chop of his body. "I have chosen him for a reason. No other potential Decidedly Late Challenger has seen the demand that he has. I have worked too hard and made it too far to give up on him now."

Crazy Hand fell silent. There was no sound, save for the buzz of the lights above.

Master Hand floated closer to the desk. "Fine," he sighed. "You got me. I suppose I have had my heart set on this for quite a while. Since the announcement of the tournament, if I'm being honest. I'll admit, I'll be a bit… disheartened if we don't get—"

Before Crazy Hand could offer any response, the laptop made two small beeps in quick succession, indicating that a message had been delivered. On the screen, an envelope had appeared with a red dot in its corner.

Both hands' breath caught in their throat. Crazy Hand clung to the desk and began to quiver in excitement. "Ooooh, finally! Open it, open it!"

With a shaking finger, Master Hand slowly navigated the mouse to click on the message. It opened to display a few words on the screen.

We've reached an agreement. Please see the attachment for more information. Everything is a go!

- [S]

An image of a circle with two smaller circles atop it was stamped below. A paperclip icon in the contact information signified the attachment.

Crazy Hand whooped and hollered and took off like a rocket, soaring and speeding around the office and nearly knocking priceless artifacts off their shelves. "We got him! We actually got him!"

Master Hand, for his part, was much more subdued in his reaction. He was just as excited as his brother, but was trying to keep a cool head, as it were; torn between reading through the attached files (as he had expected, there were many stipulations that came with the agreement) and trying to keep Crazy Hand from waking up the entire mansion. "Yes, yes, I know—please, brother, I'm happy, too, but—be careful with that!—make an attempt to control yourself—"

Crazy Hand suddenly stopped mid-loop-de-loop and straightened himself out. "Oh, right-right-right! After all, these walls have eaaaaars!" he sang.

The right hand had crouched under the desk and pulled out a small red device that looked vaguely like a printer, with a keyboard and small screen attached to its side. He pushed a few keys, and a large hologram of a star map was projected above. Countless stars stretched across the map, and swirling galaxies drifted almost lazily along.

"Good thing I wrote down this world's coordinates for just such an occasion," mused Master Hand as he tapped on the keyboard to make the input. At once, the star map shifted and adjusted itself to zero in on a specific cluster of stars. A prompt appeared on the screen:

Connection established. Universe Codename HIKARI-2002 located. Send invitation?

>Yes

No

"How long have I waited for this moment…?" asked Master Hand aloud. His finger hovered over the keyboard. "This will make quite an exciting finale, don't you think?"

And with an extravagant final flourish, Master Hand pushed the key.

Message sent successfully.

>OK

The printer shuddered and shook, and from a slot on its side, a beam of light shot out from the machine and through the open window, disappearing into the night sky. On the hologram, a shooting star streaked across the cosmos, landing squarely in the middle of the cluster and bursting into light.

Master Hand stretched out his fingers and slumped to the floor. "Finally," he sighed. "A weight has finally been lifted off my knuckles."

"Gosh, I'll say!" chirped Crazy Hand. "We're finally done with everything!"

The right hand rotated his wrist either in agreement or to simply let go of built-up tension. No sooner had that finished than he immediately snapped back to attention. "Now, then!" he declared, causing Crazy Hand to mimic his actions. "Down to business! It's time to prepare for one final conference…"

The printer was put away, and both Master and Crazy Hand crouched in front of the laptop. There was still work to be done yet.

To say that the lounge and its occupants were excited on that brisk autumn morning was, for the most part, an understatement. Just twelve days prior, every living being in the mansion had received the long-awaited news: there was to be a special presentation to reveal the final new fighter, much like the one that had been broadcast a month before the tournament's start. It had certainly been a… memorable kick-off.

And from the buzz that spread over the lounge, the finale was looking to be just as grandiose.

"I don't care who it is," drawled Midna as she reclined and supported herself with her hair. "I've heard plenty of rumors flying around, and none of them appeal to me."

Hammer Brother shrugged as he took a seat next to the imp. "I ain't too sure about that. You saw the notice they sent out? 'A celebration to make waves throughout the multiverse'…" He spread his arms out as if he was revealing the name of the newest challenger in lights six feet high. "Pretty sure it's gonna be someone big."

"Has to be," agreed Samurai Goroh, sagging into a chair next to Hammer Brother. "I may not seem like it, but I've kept my finger on the pulse for quite some time now. And y'know? I haven't heard a word ever since they brought in that blonde guy with the trucker hat. Things have been under lock and key." He paused, exhaling deeply and leaning back in his chair. "No way are they gonna play this up the way they're doing if it was some nobody."

Midna rolled her eyes. "You say that, but watch them announce another one of Marth's friends."

Samurai Goroh grunted. "Fair enough." A thought suddenly occurred to the man. "Oh, jeez. Imagine if they end up adding Tin—"

Regardless of to what degree Goroh was joking, the feedback on his suggestion was swift and abrupt. The Hammer Brother picked up a handful of hammers and prepared to throw them, while Midna morphed her hair into an arm to seize Samurai Goroh by the scruff of his neck.

"Don't. Even. Joke about that," growled Midna. "We all agreed not to speak his name out loud."

Samurai Goroh simply nodded, wisely deciding to keep his mouth shut this time. Slowly, Midna lowered him back into his chair, but not before giving him a venomous glare and making the widely understood "I'm watching you" gesture.

On the other side of the room, Lyn was chatting amicably with Bomberman and Starfy. The latter two held soft pretzels in one hand, and little flags printed with the tournament logo in the other. The former, meanwhile, held an almost comically-sized drumstick in her own hand.

"Who do you think it's gonna be?" asked Starfy, taking a bite from his pretzel.

Bomberman examined his own pretzel, stuffed with jalapeno and cheddar cheese. "Ooh, you know who I've heard? That wolf goddess that Ryu fought that one time! She's a pretty popular choice!"

Lyn nodded. "Personally, I'm hoping they'll invite that puzzle solving gentleman. You know, the one with the tall hat?"

Bomberman raised an eyebrow. "Really? Him? What makes you want him so bad? …Uh, not to criticize your choices or anything." Beside him, Starfy chewed his pretzel and stared up at the girl with inquisitive eyes.

Lyn shook her head. "No worries. It's just, there's something about him that really intrigues me." She turned to look into the distance and closed her eyes, deep in thought. "I'll admit, I really want to hear more about his own world. A world where solving puzzles is the path to victory… It just sounds so fantastical. I mean… 'London'. What kind of place name is that?"

She opened her eyes and turned back to her friends. Starfy was staring off into space, while Bomberman was smiling amenably up at her. Her eyes fell on the pretzel the robot was holding, from which a bite had been taken.

…

…A bite?

It was indeed a missing chunk of pretzel. Bomberman kept smiling, his eyes merry and lighting up his otherwise featureless face.

"Ah—"

Bomberman's smile faded. "Huh? You okay, Lyn?"

"I, uh…" Lyn glanced at the wall, hoping that it would perhaps provide a distraction from the unsettling implications that were beginning to worm their way into her brain. When that failed, she turned to the star-shaped creature two chairs away. "Starfy!" she began, a bit too strained. "Who do you think it's going to be?"

Starfy blinked as he swallowed. "Oooh! I want, uh… I want… Oh! I hope it's the guy from Cosmo Land! The one with the big wrench! He had his friends here last time!"

"Oh, right, I remember them," remarked Lyn. "They were one of the first assistants in the program. But they didn't make it this time…"

"Yeah, I've heard of those guys," recalled Bomberman. "I saw some of the tapes from the archives. Wonder why they didn't come back…"

"Maybe they were saving them for now!" said Starfy, bouncing in his seat.

The star-creature's enthusiasm proved quite infectious. Both of his companions looked over at the clock to check the time. Not much time left now. Lyn in particular brought her chair a bit closer to the projector screen.

"Well, see, that's the best part!" said Bomberman. "Who knows who it could be? It could be just about anyone!"

"Waaah!"

"Oh, great."

Waluigi, who had been sitting right behind the trio and had heard every word of their conversation, scooted his own chair closer, close enough for him to lean over Bomberman's seat. He smiled a devious, insincere smile as he rested an arm on the robot's head. "Guessing at who the last fighter is, eh?"

"Yeah!" replied Starfy, almost completely unaware of Lyn and Bomberman's sudden change in mood. "Lyn says it's gonna be the puzzle-solving guy, and Bomberman wants it to be—"

Starfy's explanation was cut short by a derisive guffaw that morphed into a long, patronizing sigh with a countenance and tiny shake of the head to match. "Ha! You really think one of those has-beens is gonna be the last fighter? Gimme a break!"

Lyn's eyes quickly narrowed, while Bomberman let out a long, exaggerated sigh. Starfy, still failing to pick up on his friends' clear annoyance, met Waluigi's contempt with the innocent sincerity of the child he was. "Well, Bomberman said that it could be anyone…"

Once again, Waluigi snorted as he gazed down at the star-creature. "Puh-leeze. You really think this guy—" he flicked Bomberman's antenna for emphasis— "would know anything? Hmph. Losers." He paused, idly twirling his mustache. "…But, in spite of that, Bomb Boy does have a point. It could be anyone. And luckily for you, I know exactly who it's going to be!"

"Really?!" said Starfy, his eyes filling with stars in an instant.

"Really?" reprised Lyn, raising an eyebrow in both disdain and disbelief.

"But of course," confirmed Waluigi, sneer slowly spreading across his face. "I've kept my ear to the ground ever since they invited that noodle girl, and I've narrowed it down to one prime candidate."

Of the three in Waluigi's audience, Starfy was the only one taken in. "Who is it? Who is it? Tellmetellmetellme!" he squealed, practically vibrating in his chair.

"Yes, please do," reiterated Bomberman, trying and failing to get the purple-clad man's arm off his head.

Waluigi's sneer turned into a grin that almost seemed feral, soaking in the attention he was getting. He beckoned them closer (nobody dared) and after a dramatic pause for effect, he almost whispered, "…It's-a me."

"Whaaaat?!" Starfy nearly jumped out of his chair. Several eyes turned to the group. Lyn simply pinched the bridge of her nose, while Bomberman managed to successfully end his tenure as Waluigi's armrest.

"It's true," affirmed Waluigi, his chin up and his chest out. "The hands have finally seen their error in excluding me three times in a row, and I'm all set to take the spotlight at last!"

Starfy's eyes were as wide as dinner plates, while Lyn and Bomberman simultaneously rolled theirs. "But… but how?" asked Starfy once the initial shock had worn off. "How do you know that you're the last fighter?"

"Yes, how?" asked Lyn.

"An excellent question!" began Waluigi, leaning back in his chair. "I'll spare you the recap of how I was unfairly snubbed at the start of the tournament. Waaaah…" His smirk faded into a scowl as he crossed his arms. "Oh, they say, 'everyone is here', but they exclude Waluigi? Bah!" He leaned forward, his grin returning. "But now, the tides have changed. Ask yourself, why would they play this up for all it's worth?"

"Because it's the last fighter," retorted Lyn. "They held a similar event last tournament."

"Exactly!" said Waluigi with a snap of his fingers. "The last fighter. The last hurrah! Remember how Waluigi was robbed and humiliated at the start of the tournament?"

"I thought you said you weren't gonna go over tha—"

"Oh, the indignity!" cried Waluigi suddenly, pressing one hand to his forehead and the other directly in Bomberman's face. "The ignominy! The disgrace! I was robbed! Humiliated! Deprived of my destiny! We all remember the outcry!"

"Yeah, we do," came a voice from the crowd. "Get over it."

"We all remember," repeated Waluigi. "And no doubt it caught the attention of Master Hand. So, naturally, who better to close off the tournament with than the one who deserves it than with me? Me, Waluigi, the perfect bookend! Finally, I'll get my chance to get what I so rightfully deserve! Waluigi is going to be the last Decidedly Late Challenger! Waaa ha ha ha!" He finished his explanation by leaping up onto his chair and laughing loudly for all the lounge to hear.

Bomberman and Lyn could only stare at him dumbfoundedly. Starfy, meanwhile, stared at him with wonder and honest-to-goodness admiration, which was exceedingly rare for Waluigi. At last, Lyn spoke up. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard leave your mouth."

"Yeah, that sounds more like a wild theory than anything," agreed Bomberman. "What makes you so sure it's gonna be you?"

"Geh—waaah?! I just—!" He slapped a hand over his forehead and dragged it down the rest of his face. "Ugh. Fine. Let me explain slowly so losers like you can understand. Waluigi got robbed at the start of the tournament, and now they've realized the error of their ways, so they're adding Waluigi as the last fighter. Got it memorized?"

Hearing Waluigi's theory, some of the eavesdropping assistants had tuned him out to return to their own chatter. Lyn turned back to the screen, with Bomberman and Starfy following suit. "Yeah, sure, whatever," mumbled the robot.

"Bah!" grouched Waluigi. "Just you wait. You ignore me now, but don't come crying to me when it's finally Walui—"

"Shut up! Shutupshutupshutup!" came a voice. "It's starting! Here we go!"

Any and all discussion was silenced as everyone turned to look at the now-black screen. The lights were quickly dimmed as a countdown began. Once it reached the end, the zero faded into a flaming version of the tournament's logo, and an extravagant theme began to play. The logo faded into a series of scenes of many battles over the course of the tournament's run, ending with a scene of several of the veterans battling with a handful of the newcomers on the Battlefield stage. The clip then cut away as the screen filled with colored panels, each containing an image of every fighter included, from Mario up to the humble Piranha Plant.

The lounge erupted into cheers, somewhat muted as the music indicated that this opening wasn't quite finished yet, but no less enthusiastic. Only a few of the assistants remained silent, though there were a couple of groans and eye-rolls as the Piranha Plant's panel flitted past.

The music continued as a boy with dark hair and a mask appeared on the screen, snapping his fingers as a figure surrounded by blue flames appeared behind him. This cut to another boy with long brown hair flinging a fireball, followed by a red bird carrying a bear wearing a backpack. A man in a trucker hat launched Ganondorf away with an explosion, and two people with short grayish-green hair, one wielding a bow and the other carrying an axe, brandished their weapons back-to-back. Min Min came next, followed by a figure made entirely of blocks, then a silver-haired man facing away from the camera and swinging a sword taller than he was. A red-haired girl appeared on the screen before suddenly being replaced by a blonde girl wearing white and turquoise, and finally, a man with scars all over his body and a glowing red eye battering Ryu before launching him away with an uppercut. The scene cut back to the screen filled with panels as yet more joined them, these containing the fighters just shown. But next to the scarred man's panel was one final panel, this one completely white and containing a single question mark. This scene faded back to the flaming logo as the music followed suit.

The lounge was hushed as Master Hand and Crazy Hand appeared on the screen against a dark background. "Welcome, one and all," began Master Hand. "I am Master Hand, host of the Super Smash Brother tournament."

"And I'm Crazy Hand!" announced his twin. "We did it, everyone! We finally reached the end!"

"Yes," chuckled Master Hand. "Yes, we have. At last, we are finally here. The final fighter announcement for the tournament. It has been a long, arduous journey to reach this point. But I believe that we have managed to create something truly worthwhile—something beyond a mere tournament of the greatest warriors in the multiverse. No, this is something much more… extraordinary."

As Master Hand continued on, Waluigi remained laser-focused on the screen, hunched over in his chair and steepling his fingers. He had been right. The hands were really playing this up as the truly, honest-to-goodness final fighter. And he had a pretty good feeling about who it most definitely was.

"Believe us when we say," continued Master Hand, "we are just as excited as you are to see the final competitor."

"This final Decidedly Late Challenger really is a challenger like no other!" agreed Crazy Hand.

Yes, it had to be Waluigi! A slow grin crept up his face. A challenger like no other, eh? Well, there was no one like Waluigi! Clearly, they were tacitly that they had been wrong to snub him while all those other losers took the spotlight! He chanced a glance at the lounge door. Any minute now, someone would walk in to hand him his invitation. At this point, it was almost inevitable.

"But enough words," said Master Hand. "Allow us to at last introduce the final challenger!"

The screen faded to black. Several breaths were held, and chatter faded to background noise. Waluigi gripped his chair. It had to be him. It just had to be. He could practically feel the invitation in his hands. It was finally happening. At last, the coveted spotlight would finally be his! At last, he could finally make that nobody Luigi feel all the humiliation and misery he'd felt for years! At long last, he would finally show Daisy who the real champion was! Then she would see. Then they'd all see! Oh, he could hear them now. Oh, Waluigi, we were wrong to exclude you! We were fools! You're the only one who could make a proper finale! You deserve to be the superstar of—

The sound of Red shushing snapped Waluigi out of his reverie. On the screen, Mario was standing in a black void, approaching a flame on the ground. Clenching a fist in determination, he plunged his hand inside.

It's a tennis racket! thought Waluigi. This is it! This is my big moment!

With all the energy he could muster, Mario threw the flame into the darkness.

At last! It's finally Waluigi time!

The flames dispersed, but not completely. The camera zoomed in on a key detail of the object hidden within, a token of a circle with two smaller circles above.

"…!"

The fire fully dissipated, revealing a large object shaped like a key.

Someone passing outside the lounge, or indeed, roaming anywhere in the Smash Mansion at that moment would have thought that someone had made a fatal mistake in the Blast Box storage. The walls shook, vases on pedestals wobbled precariously on their perches, and a deafening roar sounded through the corridors. Every creature in the mansion, large and small, stood glued to whatever they were watching the conference on in either disbelief and elation. The key had shot a beam of light to create a keyhole-shaped portal. Music, slow and elegant but still triumphant, had commenced as a boy wearing huge yellow shoes and brown hair that seemed to jut out in all directions floated forth from the keyhole. He flew through the darkness as sparkles trailed behind him, his very presence seeming to bring light to the space. Finally, he came to a landing in front of a handful of Smashers, the key floating above. As if waiting for its master, the key flew up and into the boy's hand, who hoisted it over his shoulder and grinned widely.

The camera cut back to Master Hand and Crazy Hand. "You're not imagining things," declared Master Hand. Although his words were neutral, his tone (and his barely contained quivering) betrayed the immense pride and accomplishment he felt. "At long last, Sora is finally here!"

The lounge was physically sound, but emotionally in shambles. Baito had been the first to react, jumping out of his chair and cheering at the top of his lungs before Nikki tackled him in a hug. Beside him, the Sablé Prince had also leapt five feet in the air before giddily dancing on the spot, his royal upbringing forgotten. Rodin let out a triumphant cheer of his own before extending his hand, into which a grouchy-looking Samurai Goroh placed a large stack of coins. Ashley, for her part, raised a single eyebrow in interest but otherwise showed no other reaction, matching with Shadow, who sat behind her, but in a stark contrast to Red, who was on the ground, nearly in tears. Everyone present, be they human, beast, alien, divine, demon, or whatever Color TV-Game 15 could be classified as, felt some kind of reaction to the events that had taken place.

Everyone but one, that is.

One sole man, clad in purple, sat there still staring blankly at the screen. He barely noticed his fellow assistants whooping and cheering over the newest arrival. He barely registered Master Hand talking about how Sora was "fairly difficult" to invite, and how he was the most requested challenger to join the tournament.

The most requested…

An odd feeling made itself known in Waluigi's chest. It was bitter and foul and ugly, the same feeling he'd had when he lost to Luigi in the Star Cup finals, or when he had first learned he would be an Assist Trophy for the third time in a row. Vast, crushing disappointment mixed with sick, sullen anger.

Once again, he had been given the shaft while some nonachiever hogged the spotlight. Once again, all the honor and admiration that was rightfully his was snatched away and given to someone else. Once again, he was stuck as a minor role, a background character, a bit part.

Once again, he was stuck on the sidelines.

Waluigi got up from his chair, heavily and woodenly, like he was being piloted by some outside force. His fists were clenched, knuckles as white as the gloves he wore.

This would not stand.

This would not stand.

With leaden legs, Waluigi stormed out of the lounge with stomps he severely hoped were loud enough to drown out the sounds of jubilation surrounding him. (They were not.) But there was no time to think about those losers, or that stupid kid with his stupid key. He had been cheated out of his prize for far too long, and he was going to get it no matter what.

It was time to file a formal complaint.

Chapter Text

Master Hand's office was in a much lighter mood than it had been on that fateful night when the final invitation was sent. Likewise, the hand himself was feeling livelier than he had in months. And why shouldn't he be? Gone were the feelings of apprehension and dread from waiting in uncertainty. Now all that was left was waiting for the toast of the tournament to arrive, and planning out the gala to celebrate said arrival. It was to be a grand affair, inviting almost every living creature involved in the tournament's success to partake in the festivities. On top of that, all sorts of entertainment from most of the participants' worlds would be brought in for a variety of performances. Master Hand normally did not like to brag about his and Crazy Hand's accomplishments, but he'd be lying if he didn't feel some sort of self-satisfaction when viewing his work.

He'd have to chalk up that warm feeling in his core to a completely and utterly deserved sense of pride.

But his preening (yes, that was a nice word to describe it, he thought) would have to wait, for a ringing of the telephone on his desk demanded his attention. He picked it up and…

…

He picked up the phone and…

…

Picked up the phone to—

"For the love of—"

The phone slipped out of his fingers and clattered, still ringing, onto the desk.

Not for the first time, Master Hand regretted not purchasing a phone his own size. Surrendering at last, he delicately pushed a button to turn on the speakerphone. "Hello. This is Master Hand of the World of Trophies. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

"Hello?" came a woman's voice from the other end. "This is Mayor Pauline…"

"Ah, yes! Hello, Miss Mayor!" said Master Hand, immediately straightening up. "I trust my message found you well?"

"It certainly did!" laughed Pauline. "Tourism's actually been at an all-time high ever since your tournament began!"

Master Hand chuckled, soft and sincere. "I'm very glad to hear that. So does this mean you are willing to…?"

The excited clapping from Pauline's end could very faintly be heard. "Yes! I'd love to!"

"Excellent!" declared Master Hand, punching the keys on his laptop. "Now then, a train should be arriving on the New Donk City Subway at—"

The phone rang again, rudely interrupting the hand's explanation. A quick check of caller ID told him it was another contact for the night's entertainment. "Ah, um… if you'll pardon me for just one moment." He pushed the green key on the phone system. "Hello, this is Master Hand of the World of Trophies. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

A melodious, but still relaxed voice resonated from the phone's speaker. "Hey, there, you've got K.K. Slider here. What's buzzin', Master Hand?"

"Mr. Slider! Hello!" said Master Hand. "I do hope my message found you in high spirits!"

"Things have been pretty chill in my neck of the woods," replied K.K. Slider, his shrug somehow audible. "But let's not with the 'Mr. Slider' stuff. Just K.K. will do, ya dig?"

"Ah—" Master Hand had heard many a tale from the Villagers about how laid-back the musician was, but he was still caught off-guard by exactly how nonchalant he was. "I… I see. K.K. it is, then. Well, would I be correct in assuming that you're on board with coming to the World of Trophies to perform for us?"

"Yup, you got it," affirmed K.K. "Wouldn't be the first time I've done a gig like this. When should I get down there?"

"Well, the celebration isn't for at least another week, so…" He paused to check his calendar. "When would you like me to send the transportation to—"

Once again, the phone rang, making Master Hand recoil in annoyance. "Ah… apologies for that, K.K. If you wouldn't mind holding for a few moments?"

"S'all good."

"This won't take too long." Master Hand pressed the key to answer. With all the practiced decorum of years upon years of hosting the tournament, he began, "This is Master Hand of the World of Trophies. To whom do I have the pleasure of—"

"Ayooo!"

Master Hand gently picked up whatever decorum he hadn't dropped on the floor to shatter into a thousand shards. "To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

"It's me, Pearl! AKA MC Princess, AKA The Baroness of Bars, AKA MC Foreign Policy!"

For roughly fifteen milliseconds, Master Hand considered asking to speak to her partner instead. Deciding against it, he continued, "I trust you and Marina are in high spirits?"

"You bet we are!" chirped Pearl. "Things are pretty chill here, and Marina and me are still rockin' the mic!"

"Speaking of rocking the mic…" Master Hand cleared his throat. "I assume your calling means that you will—"

It was not the phone ringing that interrupted Master Hand this time, but Crazy Hand, barging into the office and wielding a large vacuum flask, the force of his entrance causing the windows to shake. "Guess who brought coffee!" he shouted.

Master Hand stared blankly at his brother for a few moments, not even registering Pearl asking who that voice was. Gently, he leaned closer to the phone. "We're delighted to have you. I'll send you further information via email," he murmured sotto voce. He pushed another key and repeated the same message to his other two addressees. Gently, he placed the phone back in its base. "What are you doing?!" he hissed.

"Getting you some coffee," replied Crazy Hand casually. "You seem busy. Who was on the phone just now?"

"Oh, just several of our guests for the upcoming festival," sighed his brother. "Can you believe it? We're at the last leg, and there are still more hoops to jump through." He glanced over at the flask placed by his desk. "Coffee, is it?"

Crazy Hand snapped his fingers. "Yup! I made your favorite! It's a cappuccino, with plenty of pigeon milk!"

"I don't have a favorite—pigeon milk?" Master Hand paused his unscrewing of the cap. "You went to The Roost for this?"

Crazy Hand shook himself back and forth in a negative response. "Nope, I made it myself! And it wasn't easy, either! You have no idea how many pigeons I had to milk for this…"

Master Hand, who had poured himself a mug and was about to take a sip, suddenly stopped before the cup could come any closer. "I'm sorry, how many what you had to what?"

"I mean, that's how Brewster makes it, right?" said Crazy Hand, his fingers curling inward. "He has a stash of it, right?"

"I…" Suddenly deciding that he much preferred tea, Master Hand set the cup down. "Well, while we will have plenty of musical accompaniment," he began in an attempt to change the subject, "what kind of alternative entertainment do you think—"

The question was interrupted by knocking, sharp and impatient, sounding from behind the door. From the sound of it, it was with the knuckle, the kind of knock gentle enough to not quite be considered rude just yet, but was terribly close to being so.

Both hands paused. When the sound did not continue, Master Hand went on. "As I was saying, do you think Sukapon would be, ah… fitting for an event of this—"

The knocking grew louder and quicker, and subsequently grew that much ruder, this time with the side of the fist. When that ceased, the faint sound of a restless shoe tapping could be heard.

Master Hand sighed lightly. "Come in," he called, having a few ideas on who the visitor could be.

The door swung open, and Waluigi stormed in, his fists trembling at his side and his face like thunder. He marched up to the desk and glared at Master Hand right in his knuckles.

Master Hand did not move. "Hey, Wally," greeted Crazy Hand. "Whatcha need?"

Waluigi barely spared him a glance. "What I need," he began, his voice carefully controlled, "is answers."

Both hands just looked at him. "Uhh… because they get adopted every time?" supplied Crazy Hand.

"What?"

"What?"

There was a mutual awkward silence.

Crazy Hand attempted to provide another answer, but Master Hand gently cut him off. "What questions do you have that we would be able to answer?" he asked.

The enmity returned to Waluigi's face. "Who is Sora?" he got out.

"Sora? Oh, don't tell me you forgot already!" said Crazy Hand with an impatient wave of his finger. "He's the new guy! The last Decidedly Late Challenger!"

"Yes, the 'new guy', as it were. The final new competitor," confirmed Master Hand with no small surge of pride. "He will arrive in…" He checked his calendar. "…Just under two weeks' time."

Waluigi's face grew a deeper shade of red, and his mustache bristled. "My second question," he rumbled. "Why is Sora?"

Both hands tilted to the side in confusion. "I mean, that's kind of a loaded question," started Crazy Hand. "Like in an existential sense, or why he—"

Waluigi's gloved hands struck the desk with a surprising amount of force for someone of his figure. It wasn't enough to make the phone wobble, but it was just enough to make Crazy Hand jump back a bit. Master Hand, for his part, remained still.

The thin man's hands curled into fists. "Why is it him?" he growled. "Why is he the last Decidedly Late Challenger?"

Master Hand took a deep breath. "I suppose I am at least somewhat to blame here," he began, slowly getting an idea as to where the conversation was headed. "If you recall, we ran the Smash Ballot during the last tournament, and Sora was the most requested challenger. We felt that if we were to reveal the results, things would get very out of hand, very quickly. Thus, we—"

"Let me elaborate," snarled Waluigi. His fists, still resting on the cherry wood of the desk, were trembling with barely contained rage. "Why is it him, and not Waluigi?"

Master Hand sighed again, partially because his suspicions were correct, and partially because it had only now occurred to him that Waluigi could have used the knocker he had installed a month ago. "I—"

"It's-a not fair!" Waluigi had straightened up and begun to pace, his voice filling with resentment with every word. "I get robbed, denied the spotlight from the beginning, and the last spot gets handed off to some random kid with stupid hair?! This entire thing is a sham!"

Master Hand began to tap a finger on the desk. "Waluigi, please—"

"Oh, sure, let's invite that loser Luigi! Let's invite that girl from space! Let's invite a fitness trainer, or that dumb dog! Let's bring in Daisy! Let's have some kid who stole an invitation! Probably mine, too!"

The tapping hastened. "Listen to me—"

"The swordfighters!" rejoined Waluigi. "Don't even get me started on them! Oh, swords are so common, we have to have a bunch of them! Buncha dime-a-dozen nobodies!"

"Please, try to calm down—"

"And don't forget! Don't forget!" Waluigi's face flushed to a purple that almost matched his cap. "Ooh, let's just invite a stupid weed for no other reason than it'll be funny! It's not!"

It was Crazy Hand's turn to try. "Dude, your blood pressure—"

"Everybody always gets the spotlight, but never Waluigi! This was supposed to be my big break! But noooooo! Stuck with the dregs like Starfy!"

"If you would just—"

"Everybody cheating! This could've been my chance to finally show everyone that I'm the best, and what do you do? You bring in some dumb kid with big clown shoes! Waaaaah! I'm tired of this! I'm tired of always being stuck in the back while some other loser takes up all the limelight!"

His rant finished, Waluigi stomped a foot down on the floor, as if that specific tile had personally spat in his coffee. He stood there, fuming, glaring up at the hands.

Master Hand was completely silent. Crazy Hand had backed into the corner, waiting to see how long he would go on. "Are you done?" asked Master Hand quietly.

Waluigi folded his arms. "Yes," he hissed.

"Very well." Master Hand adjusted a few loose papers on the desk. "Let me answer your question with another question. You have been part of the Assist Trophy program in this tournament for… three? Three years. Why are you only coming to me now?"

Waluigi opened his mouth to supply a cutting retort, but only found words failing him. Instead, his throat produced a small croaking sound.

"I understand that you seemed disappointed when you were revealed at the beginning of the tournament, but you seemed fine afterwards." A notification on his laptop called the hand's attention, and he briefly tapped at a few keys to respond. "You did not seem to have any problems throughout both sets of Decidedly Late Challengers. So let me ask you again. Why are you bringing this up now, three years after the fact?"

Waluigi did not answer at first. "This… this was supposed to be Waluigi's big break," he said at last. "I was supposed to be the superstar!"

"Superstar?" repeated Crazy Hand. "Gosh, if I had a nickel for every time I heard that one…"

"Please," chided Master Hand, turning to his twin and giving him his oft-used let me handle this look. "But regardless," he continued, turning back to the still-rather incensed lanky man before him, "my brother does have a point. You are not the first person I have heard this sentiment from, nor will you be the last, I feel."

Waluigi's brow furrowed even further. "Waaah? What do you mean?"

Master Hand sighed and lightly tapped a finger on his desk. "…Do you know how many people sent in applications to be a fighter in the tournament?"

Waluigi folded his arms. "Ugh, are we doing math lessons now? Fine. How many?"

"I don't know," shrugged Master Hand. "I lost count at around nine hundred and seventy-two. I'm the spirit of creation, not the spirit of counting!" He chuckled at his own joke. "But in all seriousness… Countless people, an endless amount of individuals across all worlds. Some less talented than others in some areas, but undisputed masters in others. Each with the same goal: to be a part of the Super Smash Brothers tournament. To achieve that highest of honors."

"Where are you going with this?" asked Waluigi.

"But with as many applicants as I receive," continued the hand, "very few of them go on to get interviews, and even fewer actually get accepted. Which is where things became difficult."

"What he's trying to say is," chimed in Crazy Hand, "you didn't make the cut because the people that did had an edge over you."

Waluigi blinked. "What?"

"You were outranked," said the left hand simply, as though he were genuinely surprised it had taken him this long to figure it out.

"Brother, please," repeated Master Hand, giving him an almost pleading look. He sighed, longer and louder this time as he regarded the purple-clad man in front of him. "As… tactless as Crazy Hand's explanation was, I'm afraid he is correct. You, Waluigi, are simply one of a long list of potential competitors, decidedly late or otherwise, that got… out-prioritized."

"Like Alph!" chirped Crazy Hand.

"Yes," conceded Master Hand after a pause. "Somewhat like Alph."

"Out-prioritized?" echoed Waluigi. "So… you're admitting that I lost out to a dog and duck? To the secretary? To the plant?"

Master Hand only sighed softly. To Waluigi, it said more than words ever could.

The room was dead quiet. Waluigi simply stood there, eyes blank and staring impassively at nothing in particular. Even his mustache that pointed up at the ends seemed to droop a bit. "…So that's it?" he said, barely audible. "That's the end of it? Just a 'better luck next time'?

Master Hand floated a bit lower, almost touching the floor. "I must repeat, you have been in the Assist Trophy program for three years now. I do not understand why you are only coming forth with this now."

"It's not even that bad of a deal," put in Crazy Hand. "I mean, you've been here since the program began, which is more than I can say for guys like, uh, what was his name? Saki! Yeah!"

Master Hand floated back up, gently closing the laptop. "I… really don't know what to tell you at this point." His words were gentle, but they stung regardless.

Crazy Hand, meanwhile, chose to speak his thoughts aloud, as usual. "Like we said, there were a lot of people that didn't get in. What makes you so special?"

The purple-clad man just stood there, his gaze directed at the floor. That same repulsive sensation he'd felt on the day of the reveal resurfaced in the pit of his stomach, spreading up and down across his body like a mold, bringing a new feeling, a dull ache in his head. The sick feeling of anger had mostly subsided, the disappointment spreading over him like a tidal wave. His hands, which he realized had been clenched into fists for too long, slumped and hung lamely at his sides.

Crazy Hand cleared his throat. "So, like, are you gonna go now, or…?"

Waluigi remained silent. With legs that suddenly felt heavy and leaden, he turned around and shuffled out of Master Hand's office, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Silence flooded the room.

"Y'know," murmured Crazy Hand, breaking the silence, "I wonder what happened to that Saki guy, anyways…"

As early afternoon daylight illuminated the room, Isaac found himself contemplating a flyer that had suddenly appeared on his bedroom door one day. In all the hustle and bustle in preparing for Sora's arrival, he had almost completely ignored it, but considering its size, taking up nearly half the entire door, bright, garish colors, and the utter mishmash of different fonts, it was fairly hard to miss.

A celebration like no other!

Join us as we honor the arrival of Sora, the final Decidedly Late Challenger!

At long last, Everyone is Here…

…And Everyone is Invited!

Entertainment, music, and food from different worlds!

Come one, come all! It's a gala you won't want to miss!

Located in the Grand Hall, Fifth Floor

Monday starting at 6 PM

A picture of Sora was in the middle of the poster, wearing the same lopsided grin he had worn during the conference.

"You guys see this yet?" asked the boy as he walked into the lounge, flyer in hand.

Samurai Goroh briefly looked up from his phone to nod. "Yeah, we all got one. Sheesh," he muttered, scanning over his own flyer. "They're really rolling out the red carpet for this kid, eh?"

"Makes sense," shrugged the Hammer Brother. "From what I've heard, they've been gunnin' for him for ages… like, before last tournament, even."

"I suppose he has every right to," mused Krystal. "Wouldn't you indulge a bit, if you were in his place?"

"Mmm." Isaac rolled his neck, then briefly glanced over the flyer. "Hey, do you know what kind of dress code this is?"

Samurai Goroh adjusted his glasses. "They used the word 'gala', kid. Obviously it's formal." He got up. "If anyone needs me, I'll be learning how to make a tux."

Sensing that the conversation had fallen into a lull, Isaac followed Samurai Goroh's example, slipping out the door and down the hallway. He glanced over the flyer in his hand. Goroh's words echoed in his head. They're really rolling out the red carpet for this kid…

Isaac frowned, ever so slightly. When he had last been here, there had been no such concept of Decidedly Late Challengers. When he had been around, the mansion had been much smaller, too. His mind flooded with the memory of that day, arriving in the World of Trophies and gaping at just how much things had changed, just how big everything had gotten. And he had only missed one tournament! The remainder of the ordeal had been excruciatingly dull, all the reviewing of contracts and the Code of Conduct, and the seemingly endless deluge of paperwork. He suddenly remembered a specific moment, still stinging after learning he'd be an assistant once again and signing what must have been his four thousandth liability waiver, tartly hoping that the other Assist Trophies had felt as lost and overwhelmed as he did.

…His mind returning to the present, Isaac wondered exactly how the other assistants had gotten on without him. Things may have changed in the World of Trophies, but after the Alchemy incident, things in Vale, or what was left of it, mostly returned to their normal pace.

Speaking of…

Isaac stopped in the middle of the hallway as he wondered how his friends in Vale were doing. Getting skipped over for the fourth tournament had definitely stung, but every cloud had a silver lining, as Garet would say. Weyard was changing constantly, but life went on. When he hadn't been investigating the mysterious spatial distortions that had started popping up with Garet, he often found himself simply relaxing and catching up with his friends. Considering his growing concerns that these phenomena would cause problems in the future, the chance to just hang out was a welcome respite. After everything he'd gone through, he felt he'd earned the right to relax every once in a while.

…Maybe it had been worth it after all, not making the cut that time.

"Isaac! Isaac!"

Footsteps, swift and childishly hasty, sounded from around the corner. Isaac snapped his head up just in time to see Starfy feverishly tottering toward him, a flyer in his stubby hands. "Isaac!" he called out again. "Did you see? Did you see?!"

"Yeah, I saw," chuckled Isaac, kneeling down to meet the star's eye level. "You excited?"

Starfy nodded, shaking his entire body in the process. "Uh-huh! I wanna meet Sora! He's so cool!" He hopped back and forth on his feet, flapping his stubby hands. "I can't wait, I can't wait!"

Isaac had to admit, Starfy's enthusiasm was proving more infectious by the second. "Honestly, y'know what, Starf? So am I, now that you mention it!"

Starfy smiled widely for a split second before the expression was replaced with one of sudden recollection. "Oh, yeah! I almost forgot! Isaac, I need your help!"

"Huh?" Isaac raised his eyebrows. "What do you need help with?"

Starfy stared up at the boy with a serious countenance that was almost unfitting. "It's about Mister Waluigi."

Oh, boy. Isaac shut his eyes briefly. The tale of a certain… dispute between Waluigi and the Hands had spread rather quickly. Nobody had seen him since that day, not that anyone was complaining. "…What about Waluigi?" he asked slowly.

"He hasn't come out of his room in days!" explained Starfy, who was now taking the Adept by the hand to lead him to the room in question. "Every time I try to talk to him, he just says, 'Waah!' What if he's sick? What if he won't be able to come to the party?"

Isaac stopped walking. "Um, Starfy? I… really don't think it's a great idea to help Waluigi right now."

Starfy whirled around to face Isaac, his eyes huge with worry. "What?! Why not?"

"Because…" Isaac fumbled with his hands, looking for the right words. "I really think he just… wants to be alone right now. Why don't we just wait until the day of, and talk to him then?"

Starfy's agitated pout told Isaac that was the wrong answer. "No!" he cried. "If we wait, it'll be too late! We have to help him now!" He began to tug at Isaac's sleeve again. "C'mon, we have to hurry!"

Gently, Isaac pulled his hand back. "Starfy, why are you so worried about Waluigi, anyways?"

"Because he's my friend!" said Starfy, nearly reaching the end of his patience. "He's friends with Mister Wario, and Mister Wario is my friend. So Mister Waluigi is my friend!"

The question of why exactly Starfy was friends with Wario balanced on Isaac's tongue. But seeing how riled Starfy looked now, he figured it was best not to press the subject.

"Please," repeated Starfy, almost a whisper. "We have to help him."

Isaac heaved a heavy sigh. "Alright, fine. Fine. Lead the way, Starf."

"Starf" was off like a shot, scampering away and up a hall, leaving Isaac to hurry after him. For his short stature and lack of knees, the little star proved to be quite quick. "This way! This way!" he encouraged, as if Isaac did not know the path to their destination.

At last, the two of them arrived at Waluigi's room. The door was fairly obvious, tall and with an inverted letter L stamped on it, chips of purple paint flaking off in places. An odd, indistinct scent wafted out from the crack under the door.

Starfy approached the door and knocked one, two, three times. "Mister Waluigi?" he called out. "Are you okay?"

There was no answer at first. A soft "waaaah" croaked from inside.

Starfy turned to Isaac and gave him a plaintive look: see what I mean? He turned back to the door. "Um, Mister Waluigi?" he hesitated. "I brought a friend."

"…Who?" rasped a voice.

"It's Isaac!" chirped Starfy. "He'll help you feel better!"

Isaac did a double-take. "Uh, no, I won't?"

"I'm not sick," grouched Waluigi. "Go away."

Starfy pouted, while Isaac just sighed and tapped his foot. "If you're not sick, then why are you stuck in your room?" asked the star. "If you stay in there too long, you'll miss the party for Sora!"

Somehow, both Isaac and Starfy could feel Waluigi bristling from behind the door. "Waaah," he grunted, much gruffer and sharper than the last one.

It seemed that they had reached an impasse. Starfy pouted even more, and he softly, but no less agitatedly, stomped his foot, while Isaac, who had already pieced things together, simply rocked back and forth on the heels of his feet. He was about to suggest that they simply leave him alone until the party, but Starfy fixed him with a pleading look, eyes big and begging: please help! Do something!

Figuring that he had no real choice in the matter (and he probably didn't), Isaac figured there was only one thing to do.

"Y'know, what? Starfy, I think, um, Dr. Wright is looking for you, for help with the uh… streamers. Why don't you go help him, and I'll handle Waluigi?"

"Really? Um, okay." Starfy scurried off, but not before calling, "Don't worry, Mister Waluigi! Isaac will make you feel better!" Isaac was left alone in front of the door.

A part of Isaac's brain, one that sounded a lot like Phosphora, told him to just turn right around and leave Waluigi in there. But the image of Starfy's big, pleading eyes appeared in his mind's eye and firmly planted itself there, putting an end to any internal deliberation before it even began. He walked up and knocked on the door. "Waluigi," he said.

No answer.

Isaac knocked again. "Starfy left, man. It's just me."

Still nothing.

Isaac let out an exaggerated sigh. "Come on, man, say something."

Waluigi did, in fact, say something. "Come to kick me while I'm down, have you?" he grouched.

"No, I'm not," muttered Isaac, silently wondering why Starfy was so eager to call him a friend. "You're not actually sick, are you?"

"I already told you no," came the answer.

"Yeah, I figured." Isaac paused. "Not a big fan of Sora, I take it?"

"No."

"Mmm." An awkward silence passed. Checking over his shoulder to make sure he was alone, Isaac continued. "I don't know why, but Starfy… he's really worried about you, y'know." That makes one of us, he added mentally.

"Is that so," Waluigi grunted.

"Yeah." Isaac chuckled softly. "The little guy practically dragged me over here to help you. I guess he probably sees the good in you somewhere… deep inside." He waited for a response, and not hearing one, he went on. "I know exactly why you locked yourself up, you know. And I'm gonna skip over that, 'cause that's a whole other thing."

Waluigi was silent.

Isaac ran a hand down his face. "Look, I… I'm not asking you to show up and be all buddy-buddy with the new guy. Hell, you can just stay in the corner and brood for all I care. Just… at least try to come. At least pretend to be a good sport about it. Please? For once?"

There was no response.

Isaac sighed again. "Look, if nothing else, Wario and Starfy are gonna be there. Everyone else will be there, so…"

Only the faint rustle of fabric gave any indication that Waluigi heard Isaac's words.

Isaac made a gesture that was halfway between a shrug and throwing his hands up. Clearly, he was getting nowhere with this. At least he could tell Starfy he tried. "I'll see you there, I guess," he mumbled. And with that, he slowly trudged off.

But inside the room, Waluigi had indeed been paying attention. Ever since his formal complaint, he had sat in his room, replaying the events of that day in his mind. The hands' words still vexed him to his core. Out-prioritized by a dog, eh? 'Nothing special', eh? And now they had the nerve to invite him to a party in that no-hoper's honor? Initially, he had planned to not go. None of those losers deserved to be graced with his presence.

He got up. Isaac's words had sparked something inside him. No, he was not a big fan of Sora. Not in the slightest. But, if everyone was going to be there, then who was he to spoil such a clearly important day?

"After all," he said to the dartboard with Luigi's face stapled onto it, "you can't have a good party without Waluigi, can you?"

The dartboard did not answer.

"His big debut, and who's going to take all the glory?" he asked no one in particular. "I will, that's who! Waaa ha ha ha ha!"

Waluigi adjusted his hat and combed at his mustache. This Sora guy may have been the last Decidedly Late Challenger, but there was still room for Waluigi time.

He picked up his phone. First things first, he had to text Wario…

Chapter Text

Amidst all the hubbub of Sora's participation, the rest of the week passed far too quickly, and before anyone knew it, the day of his arrival, and subsequently, the party, had arrived. Rumors spread like wildfire over when and how he would appear, and as the day went on, and the sun began to tip towards the west, it became clear that he would make his proper debut at the gala.

Standing in front of his bedroom mirror, Spring Man carefully combed the tip of his pompadour into a playful upward-pointing curl. He'd been at this for quite some time now, for a single rebellious hair insisted on straying away to stand out from the rest of its siblings. It was a hard-fought battle, but fighter had triumphed over follicle eventually, and so the hair remained firmly in place. "Finally got that done," he said, tossing aside the comb and stepping back.

Spring Man tended to be humble both on and off the battlefield, but he would've been lying if he said he didn't like what he saw. In the mirror, he saw himself wearing a gray suit that looked dark blue if the light hit it just right, with a white dress shirt and hot pink bowtie to match his mask.

Mercifully, it was linen, and not cotton like the last suit he'd had to wear…

His thoughts were interrupted by a brisk knock at the door. "Oh, Spring Man!" came the Sablé Prince's voice. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah, just about!" After a quick last-minute check that his pompadour was still in fine form (it was), Spring Man stepped out the door.

The Sablé Prince, who was waiting patiently outside, had forgone his usual tunic and cape in favor of a rosewood-colored suit with matching tie, and shoes that were polished to a shine. From the way the suit shone, it seemed to be made of silk. Looking at his short stature, Spring Man very nearly called him "cute" before stopping himself. It was then that he noticed that the prince was rather openly giving him a once-over. He suddenly felt very vulnerable.

But the feelings of exposure soon melted away as the Sablé Prince smiled and gave him a small nod. "Well met, Spring Man," he saluted, and gestured with his hand. "After you, then." Spring Man gave him his own nod in return, and off they went.

As they walked, the sounds of music and excited partygoers floated forth from the Grand Hall, growing louder the closer they came. Along the way, they passed by Chrom, flanked by Lucina and both Robins, all of whom chose to wear their regular clothes, and all of whom gave the duo a friendly wave in greeting.

"Uh, Sablé Pri—I mean, uh, Your Majesty," began Spring Man as he cleared his throat. "Have you been to one of these galas before?"

The prince nodded, slowly like he was recalling something. "Oh, yes," he said, his eyes far away. "Every year, all three kingdoms—ah, that's the Custard, Mille-Feuille, and my own Sablé kingdom—" he added, seeing the confusion starting on Spring Man's face, "would join together on the day of the summer solstice. The Sunbeam Festival, it was called. It doubled as both a celebration of summer and a show of solidarity between the three kingdoms. Every year, our parents made us both attend." He smiled a faint, reminiscing smile. "The rascality we'd get into in our youth… I wonder if he's doing alright…"

"Your dad?" asked Spring Man.

"Ah—oh, not my father, no," corrected the Sablé Prince. "I was talking about my friend Richard of the Custard Kingdom. Ehmm… perhaps friend-slash-rival would be a better way of putting it. We still write each other regularly, you know."

"You two must be pretty close, then," remarked Spring Man.

"Hm hm! Unquestionably!" The young prince tossed his head haughtily, but there was a genuine smile there. "Even now, after everything, we're still quite close. Ah, but listen to me rattle on. We're here."

Colorful balloons printed with a three-pointed crown surrounded a set of stately wooden doors, marking the entrance to the gala. Upbeat pop music swelled from within, mixed in with the chatter of the attendees.

Spring Man and the Sablé Prince exchanged a glance. "Shall we?" said the latter.

The spring-armed man grinned widely. "Let's get this party started!" And with a flourish, the two of them pushed open the doors to enter the Grand Hall.

It was as if they had stepped into another world. The chandeliers were the standard lighting in the hall, but on that night, they seemed to glow against the soft white drapes hanging from the windows. On either side of the hall, rows of tables were present, holding up an impressive spread of food and drink, where King Dedede was busy indulging himself (in that moment, Spring Man wondered if Chef Kawasaki wasn't passed out on a couch somewhere). Synthesized music played from speakers above, upbeat and heartening, although there were some Miis holding musical instruments off to the side. In the background, more Miis carrying brass instruments bustled around while yet more snaked between the partygoers, providing refills on drinks and cleaning up discarded napkins. Streamers, long and dazzling, hung from the ceiling, carrying such messages as 'Welcome Sora!' and 'Everyone is Here!'

Spring Man let out a low, appreciative whistle. "I guess Goroh was right. They really are rolling out the red carpet for him."

Their thoughts were quickly dispelled by the approach of Dr. Wright, clad in a pale green blazer, smiling wide and holding a drink. "Spring Man, Sablé Prince! You made it!"

Spring Man's teeth flashed in a grin. "Wouldn't miss it for the world!"

"Hmm hmm hmm! I don't think any of us would!" He took a sip of his drink, and his expression sobered fairly quickly. "But in all seriousness… you two understand that this is one of the largest galas ever thrown in tournament history, yes?"

They both nodded. "I would assume so," said the Sablé Prince.

"You've seen the flyers, yes? 'Everyone is here'? Which means…" Dr. Wright leaned in, as though divulging classified information. "Everyone is watching us."

Spring Man and the Sablé Prince exchanged a glance. "…And?" asked the former.

Dr. Wright huffed and adjusted his glasses. "What I'm saying is, more eyes are going to be on the Assist Trophy program than ever before. And you know just as well as I that Master Hand likes everything going as smoothly as possible. I know you two probably won't do anything, but… for heaven's sake, don't embarrass me—us."

Unconsciously, both lads stood a little straighter. "We won't," they said in unison.

Dr. Wright brightened, again fairly quickly. "Good! Great! Well, enjoy yourselves!" He abruptly turned on his heel and left, running a hand through his hair and taking another, shakier sip of his drink.

Once he was gone, the Sablé Prince crossed his arms and pouted. "Hmph! Coming to me and telling me to behave myself? After I spent all those agonizing weeks in finishing school?!"

Spring Man just folded his arms behind his head. "Aw, cut him some slack your highness," he sighed, watching the doctor approach Knuckles to give him the same warning. "You've known him for longer than I have, and we both know he's a huge rules guy. Maybe he's just super stressed."

"No kidding," came a voice from behind him.

There was Rodin, in a long black leather jacket over a light gray vest and white dress shirt. His lips were curled upwards in a small smile at seeing Spring Man and the Sablé Prince jump in surprise. "He's been givin' that speech to the rest of us assistants, too. That man just cannot relax… But anyways. Y'all enjoyin' yourselves?" he asked.

"Ah—um," stammered the Sablé Prince, regaining his composure. "We just arrived ourselves. Has Sora…?"

Rodin simply shrugged. "Probably saving him for when things really get started." His smile grew wider, in a way that was only somewhat welcoming. "But hey, if you're looking to pass the time…" He slipped Spring Man a ticket that gleamed silver in the light. "Stop by the Gates of Hell if you can. Gotta fresh batch of Hashimoto sake recently."

"I'm sorry, the what?" asked the Sablé Prince, looking rapidly between Rodin and Spring Man, his eyes wide. "The Gates of where now? Hmm?"

Spring Man stretched an arm to put a comforting hand on the prince's shoulder. "Aw, don't worry about that, Your Highness. It's just a name he gave it to make it sound cool. Right, Rodin?"

Spring Man found himself talking to thin air, for Rodin had already disappeared.

"…I think," muttered Spring Man. "I hope."

Before either of them could say anything further on the matter, their attention was seized by the voice of Tiki calling out to them. "Spring Man! Sablé Prince! Over here!"

She was seated at a round table, wearing a deep burgundy trumpet gown and her green hair worn loose and flowing freely. Beside her, Phosphora, Takamaru, Vince, and Dillon were sipping from drinks and chatting amongst themselves.

Both the prince and the pugilist bounded up to the table. "Oh, hey, Tiki!" called Spring Man.

"Yes, good evening to you, Miss Tiki," echoed the Sablé Prince. "I trust you and your friends are enjoying yourselves?"

Vince briefly paused his conversation with Takamaru to wave at the prince. "Hello, Your Highness! Have you tried the fondue?" He picked up a piece of carrot, dripping with cheese. "Chef Kawasaki really has outdone himself."

The Sablé Prince shook his head. "Ah, good evening, Vince!" He bowed slightly. "We only just arrived ourselves. I haven't had the chance…" He, too, picked up a carrot and after staring at it for a moment, tentatively took a bite.

"Well?" asked Vince.

Spring Man couldn't help the grin creep up his face as he watched the boy's eyes lit up. "I—ahem—" He coughed, having swallowed a rather large piece in his haste. "Gracious! D-delicious!" He reached out to grab yet more carrots, paused, then calmly plucked another off the plate. "Ahem. Yes, quite nice. …Another, perhaps?"

Spring Man chuckled as he turned back to survey the rest of the party. Captain Olimar was off to his left, chatting with Rosalina and Fox McCloud. Lucario was also present, seated at the far end of the room and playing the old grand piano. The tune he played was elegant, but with an underlying sense of menace about it. It sent a chill up the spines of those who stopped to listen.

The door swung open, and in walked Guile, walking like he was trying too hard to be serious, clad in a dark gray suit and his flattop haircut combed and coiffed to be even flatter than it normally appeared. Riki was standing near a table at the far side of the hall, sipping from a glass, having swapped his regular blue and purple jacket for one that was colored black and gold. Banjo and Kazooie were present; the former wearing a black suit jacket and a white dress shirt that clashed with his ever-present yellow shorts, while the latter had simply tied a bow tie around her neck. Luigi and Daisy were by the snack table, the latter feeding the former a cupcake. Ashley, lurking in one of the few unlit corners, had forgone formalwear entirely, wearing her standard red dress and orange neckerchief. Red, meanwhile, had gone in the exact opposite direction, wearing a golden, sparkling tuxedo with matching bowtie, and a skull-shaped pin on his lapel.

What even was the dress code for this party…?

"Never gets old, does it?" came Tiki's voice.

Spring Man blinked, not expecting to be addressed. "Yeah," he sighed, glancing back at the manakete. "This really feels like a once-in-a-lifetime thing, doesn't it?"

"Mmm." Tiki nodded. "It's been three years, but it feels like it's been forever…"

"Ain't that the truth." Spring Man's gaze turned pensive. "In a weird way it's kinda sad, if that makes any sense."

Tiki hummed in thought. "Yes, I can see what you mean. This is the final send-off for the Decidedly Late Challengers. We won't see any new faces after this."

"And it's more than that, too." Spring Man sighed again, more wistfully this time. "Like, they hold this tournament every coupla years, and I heard this one was really hard to put together. So, y'know… who knows if we're all gonna see each other again?"

Tiki was quiet. The question had been lingering on everyone's minds ever since that final conference. Who would return for next time? Would there even be a next time? Once this tournament officially ended, would it be the last time everyone saw each other?

"It is a bit upsetting, yes," began Tiki, her eyes turning towards the floor. "All the fun we've shared, all the connections we've made… But!" She perked up quickly. "Who's to say this is the end? For all we know, they could just as well bring everyone back for next time. And even if they don't… we'll still have the good memories, won't we? It's like they say: 'Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened', you know?"

Spring Man was facing away from Tiki, but she could still tell he was smiling. "Heh. That's exactly what the last Spring Man said when he retired."

Tiki blinked. "The last Spring Man? What do you mean?"

"Oh, yeah, I don't think I ever told you, did I?" Spring Man leaned his head back. "I'm actually the third guy to be Spring Man."

"Really?" Tiki opened her mouth to ask further questions, but was interrupted by a swell of music from the speakers, a lively, upbeat piece that opened with the unmistakable sound of an upright bass, with steady piano notes coming in some seconds later.

Tiki's eyes lit up as she bounced up and down in her seat. "Oooh, I love this song!" Some of the other guests clearly shared the same sentiment, as they were already heading out onto the floor to dance. Tiki got up and extended an arm towards the spring-armed man. "May I have this dance, Spring Man?" she asked, halfway between teasing and pleading.

Spring Man was experienced in many hobbies, such as fighting, training, and eating as much pizza as he could. Dancing, especially in a semi-formal setting, was not one of those things.

"I, uh—" He glanced over at the crowd, at Guile awkwardly stepping in place, and at Kirby hopping, spinning, and swiveling his stubby arms, before finally settling on Tiki's eager grinning face. "Okay."

"Yay!" Before Spring Man knew what was happening, Tiki had seized his hand and begun to drag him out onto the dance floor, extending his arm in the process. "I should tell you," she warned, "I don't have much experience dancing, so bear with me."

The rest of Spring Man's body caught up with his hand. "Well, uh… neither do I," he admitted.

Tiki giggled. "Well! Looks like it'll be a learning experience for both of us, then! Shall we?"

A broad grin stretched across Spring Man's face. As the trumpets began to blare and he took to the floor, he had a pretty good feeling that this would be a night to remember.

"Oh man, oh man, this is gonna be a night to remember!"

Baito rubbed his paws together as he paced back and forth in a waiting room hidden in the back of the Grand Hall. His face was flushed, his ears stood tall and twitching, and his eyes held a certain fire within.

"You're telling me," said Marie, sitting on a velvet couch with her cousin. "Master Hand's been going on and on about this for days. Of course he went all out."

"Nah, but he's gotta point, though," pointed out Callie, who lay down facing the ceiling. "Did you see the lineup they got planned? It's decked out."

"Exactly!" gushed Baito. "Like, holy cow, all of these people are in the same place, together! This is…" He touched his paws to his temples and moved them outwards in a classic "mind blown" gesture. "…Huge!"

Marie propped her head on her left hand. "Isn't that exactly what you said on the first day?"

"…Huh. I did say that, didn't I," muttered Baito. But he regained his excitement almost immediately. "But still! This is huge! This is, like, once-in-a-century type stuff we're—no, once-in-a-lifetime stuff that's happening here! Something like this is probably never gonna happen again! Aren't you excited to be a part of this?"

Before either Inkling could answer, the door opened with a creak. A white dog with thick eyebrows carrying a guitar on his back strolled in, his posture relaxed, and ambling along like he had all the time in the world. He blinked slowly as he took in the scene before him. "Hey, there," he announced, lifting a paw in greeting. "This the waiting room for the big ceremony?"

Baito froze, his eyes wide as dinner plates. "Oh. My. Gosh. It's him."

Callie sat up. "Oh, ship! Is that you, Slider? 'Sup, dog!" She leapt up from the couch to embrace the new arrival. Marie, meanwhile, simply waved genially at him.

"M-M-M—K.K. Slider," breathed Baito. "Really here, in the flesh." His brain caught up to the events playing out in front of him, and he blinked. "W-wait—you two know K.K. Slider?!"

"Sure do!" replied Callie, flashing her beak in a wide grin. "He opened for one of our concerts, remember, Marie?"

"Yeah, I remember that," said Marie. "That was… that was the world tour we went on, right?"

"Nah, you're thinking of the other thing," replied Callie. "The one with the holograms and the laser light shows?"

"Well, I sure do," put in K.K. "When you've been around for dog's years like I have," he winked, "some things you just never forget."

As K.K. and the Squid Sisters caught up on times missed, Baito took a moment to sit in a chair and reflect. How long had it been, since that day he'd gotten that letter? How long since he'd walked through that front door, and nearly passed out upon meeting Mario, the real Super Mario in the flesh, and shaking his hand? It had felt like a dream come true… and three years later, his conviction had not changed in the slightest. He considered himself very lucky indeed to—

The door creaked open once more, interrupting not only Baito's train of thought but the general stream of dialogue in the room. A tall woman with long wavy hair and wearing a dark red pantsuit walked through the doorway. "Excuse me?" she asked. "Is this the right place?"

Baito froze, his eyes wide as dinner plates. He opened his mouth to say yes, she was in the right room, but his words came out less as actual words and more as an odd, airy wheeze.

The tall woman blinked. "Um…"

The rabbit pointed a finger at her, trembling with something that was beginning to form into excitement. "Y-You're…" he breathed.

"Mayor Pauline," she finished, kneeling down to meet the rabbit's eye level. "It's nice to meet you," she greeted, and shook his paw.

Baito stood there, staring at where the mayor had taken his hand. He did not speak. He did not move.

"Uh… Baito, my man?" asked K.K. Slider. "You good?"

"C'mon, Baito, use your words," said Marie.

Regrettably, words failed Baito. He stood there, staring up at Pauline, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He swayed on the spot.

"…Baito?"

Abruptly and with no prior notice, Baito passed out and fell to the ground, his long ears going limp. A blissful smile was etched onto his features.

Pauline gave a small yelp, while K.K. simply quirked an eyebrow. "Great Scott!" cried the former. "Is he gonna be alright?"

"Meh. He'll be fine," shrugged Marie. "He passed out like that when he first met me, too."

Where are you?

The man tapped his foot impatiently in a dark room. He glowered down at his phone. He'd texted him hours ago and he still hadn't responded! Where was he?!

Where are you? Everything's almost ready do you have the fireworks or not?

Still, there was nothing. Not even the three dots that indicated he was typing.

Oh, come on! He impatiently tapped a finger on the big, bulky box next to him. Typical. Just typical. Almost all the pieces of his plan were in place, and the one part he needed was in the hands of someone who was dragging his feet! How was he supposed to claim the spotlight for himself without proper presentation? If and when he got his hands on his accomplice, he'd throttle him.

The display on his phone read 6:15. Okay, so there was still time. But only so much. Pretty soon, the festivities would start, and he'd be left out in the cold again. Again.

But that wouldn't happen this time. Never again.

A gloved hand idly reached up to trace the brim of his fedora. Soon, it would be time.

Very soon, it would be his time.

"Are you always this cranky?"

Shadow the Hedgehog stopped swirling his drink to frown up at the imp before him. "And what does it matter?"

"Dude, it's a party," drawled Midna as she reclined in midair, cup in hand. "Wouldn't kill you to loosen up every once in a while."

Shadow only huffed, staring back into his cup. It was clear and orange in color. He took a tentative sip and grimaced. Far too sweet for his taste.

Midna quirked an eyebrow. "Whatcha drinking?"

The hedgehog glanced over at the cooler. Lost in his thoughts, he hadn't even considered reading the label. "…Pinap Juice."

"Oooh, tropical!" Midna's gaze traveled to a point behind Shadow, and she let out a low whistle. "Sheesh. Don't look now, Shadow, but I think you got some competition in the brooding department."

Following her gaze, Shadow spied Zero standing by the wall, Z-Saber in one hand and a drink in the other. He stood completely still, holding his glass in a vice grip, and his mouth was a thin line etched on his visage. He looked very much like he wanted to be anywhere else.

Midna let out a low whistle. "Geez. What's got his goat?" She nudged the side of Shadow's head. "You should go talk to him."

Shadow folded his arms. "I'm not here to socialize," he answered, not taking his eyes off Zero.

"You came to a gala and you're not gonna socialize?" Midna gave him a wry look. "Sorry to disappoint you, but you're gonna fraternize with the rest of us whether you like it or not!" Morphing her hair into a hand, she reached out into a small crowd to pluck out a certain echidna and ungracefully plunk him down in front of the hedgehog. "If not with one of us, might as well chat with someone you know!" With a snap of her fingers, she disappeared in a shower of black and yellowish squares, her knavish laughter fading to an echo.

"Y-you—!" Knuckles swatted at the thin air where Midna once was. He sighed an exasperated gusty sigh before glancing at the less-than-impressed hedgehog beside him. "…Shadow."

Shadow rubbed at his brow and regarded the echidna before him. "Knuckles."

The two of them leaned against the wall in unison, unintentionally, as a relative silence settled between them. It wasn't quite leisurely, but it wasn't quite as stiff as it could have been. The music had since faded from a synthesized techno beat to a pirate shanty punctuated by shrill trumpets and thundering percussion. Hearing the opening notes, King K. Rool had leapt onto a table and begun to sing along as only he could; that is, raucously, noisily, and sounding less like a melody and more like a garbage disposal on the fritz.

Knuckles jabbed a thumb at the corpulent crocodile. "Get a load of this guy, huh?" When he received no response, he changed the subject. "So… we're really at the end. The last new guy."

Shadow stared off into the distance. "Yes."

The echidna gave him a look. "What, you're not even a little excited? …Nah, who am I kidding? You're never excited."

Shadow did not respond. His eyes briefly flicked towards Zero.

"C'mon, man, Midna's still watching us, just say something."

"…Something."

Knuckles blinked. He leaned back against the wall, a small grin stretching his muzzle. "Huh. Never thought you actually had a sense of humor."

Shadow gave him a smirk of his own. "Hm. I've picked one up over the years."

Another period of silence followed. The pirate shanty had picked up in tempo, the drums growing more booming and frantic. K. Rool, for his part, had begun a merry jig on the table, which creaked and threatened to buckle under his performance. To the side, a grinning Wario held up his phone to film the moment.

Knuckles opened his mouth to speak. "So when do you think—"

"Hey, bestie!"

"What the—"

"Excuse me—?"

Sonic the Hedgehog was walking—for once—towards the duo, beaming as he raised an arm in greeting. Actually, scratch that, he was sauntering along, shoes squeaking lightly against the hardwood. "Long time no see!"

Shadow rubbed at his brow, while Knuckles gave Sonic an unimpressed glare. "You see us all the time. Like, literally every week or two."

"Yeah, but things have been so busy lately, it's like I never see you guys!" Before either of them could react, Sonic sidled in between them and slung an arm around their shoulders. "It's been way too long, right, besties?"

Shadow's scowl deepened. "We are not 'besties'."

Sonic paused, rubbing his chin in feigned thought. "Rival-y?" he hazarded.

"That's not a thing and you know it."

"Aw, come on, Shad, I'm just messin' with ya!" grinned the blue hedgehog. "You gotta loosen up every once in a while!"

Shadow scoffed. "You're far from the first person to tell me that, Sonic."

"For real, though, it's not healthy to be all business all the time," continued Sonic with a wag of his finger. "You don't wanna end up like Knuckles, do ya?"

"Wh—" Knuckles spluttered. "I am not a stick in the mud!"

Sonic shot him a look. "You literally had Master Hand put a baby monitor near the Master Emerald when you left."

"One: it was not a baby monitor. And two: that's not being a stick in the mud, that's being responsible for once!"

"Aw, you know what I mean," sang Sonic, an almost-but-not-quite irritating timbre to his voice. "But for real, though." He began to walk, dragging his workmates with him. "C'mon, you two. Refreshments are on me tonight!"

"The drinks are free!" retorted Shadow and Knuckles in unison.

Sonic simply laughed as he pointed them towards the Pep Brews imported from Dream Land. The pirate shanty dropped, and so did K. Rool, the table at last giving way under his girth, as Knuckles took a sip of a fizzly, sweet drink. Wario laughed a hearty, bellicose laugh as the massive Kremling continued to sing undeterred. And Zero continued to stand there, aloof and unmoving.

Still nothing. Did he even have his phone on him? Where in the world was he?! Probably pigging out at the snack table, he thought crossly. He tapped at his phone again.

Seriously where are you? I don't know how much time we have!

He waited. And waited. And waited some more.

The phone remained still in his hand.

"Rrrrrgh…" He knew his partner had a tendency to take his time, but this was just ridiculous! At this point, he had half a mind to just go ahead with the plan by himself. Then… then, he'd finally get what he deserved. All the fame, all the attention, all the admiration, would finally belong to him! At last, he'd finally be on center stage, and he'd finally be—

"Er, ah, excuse me?"

…What? Who said that?

"Ah… down here, actually."

The man looked down. Standing there at his feet was a… figure, not more than four inches tall, smartly dressed in a blue top hat and black blazer, and carrying a burgundy umbrella. The person held up an arm in greeting. "Howdy. Mind if I bend your ear for a second?"

The man scowled. "Whaddya want? Can't you see I'm busy?"

"It'll be just a minute. If you'll pardon me…" Without warning, and with the grace of a grasshopper, the creature leapt up onto the box to get a closer look at his conversational partner. "What are you doing here in the dark? There's a big party goin' on out there. Aren't you gonna go out there and have some fun?"

The taller man snorted in response. "Pssh. I'm not going to that loser Sora's party. Not yet, anyways."

"Why not?" The smaller being tilted his head. "Sora's a very good friend of mine, you know," he affirmed, puffing out his chest in pride.

"Puh-leeze. That guy's a—" He paused, and his eyes narrowed. "Say… how do you know who Sora is? Who even are you, anyway?"

"Oh, um…" The figure shuffled in place, wringing his umbrella. "Well, uh, technically, I'm not even supposed to be here, actually… but neither are you, I'd bet." He pointed a not-quite accusatory finger up at the man.

The man scowled, sitting on the box. "You still haven't answered my question."

"Ah. That. Just, ah…" The figure thought for a moment. "Just think of me as your conscience."

"My conscience?" The man's lip curled in suspicion.

The figure nodded. "That little voice in your head that tells you what's right and wrong, and that people don't listen to!" He shot the man a knowing look. "And I'll bet you haven't listened to yours in a long while, huh?"

The man groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Oh, great. First my so-called pal isn't answering my calls when I'm on the verge of greatness, and now I'm being lectured at by some pixie thing."

The "pixie thing" did not answer. Instead, he simply sat down on the box, umbrella by his side, and tapped his fingers together. "You're planning something that'll ruin the party for everyone, aren't you?"

The man froze. How did he—?

"Don't ask me how I know," said the small creature, as if reading his thoughts. "I just know."

When his shock had melted away, the man leapt up, pointing a very-much accusatory finger at the smaller figure. "And so what if I am?!" he declared. "I deserve this! A little bug like you would never understand!" His face began to flush with color. "That should be me up there, with all the praise and prestige! That's-a my spotlight, and I don't care how much I have to cheat to get it!" He lifted up a long, lanky leg in a telegraphed threat. "Don't try to stop me or I'll—"

"Oh, I'm not trying to stop you," replied the creature, lightly stepping off the box and drifting down to the ground with his umbrella. "But I'll only say this: from what I can tell, you've been pretty sour about this whole thing. Even from before this, I'd say. All the bad luck you've had, or all the times you've felt slighted, with no light at the end of the tunnel… And all that bitterness and darkness has built up inside of you, and led you to do rotten things."

For some reason, the man felt a chill race up his spine.

The figure hesitated, and gave a small, apologetic smile. "…I'll be honest, I'm technically not your conscience, but I know a thing or two about 'em. And if you started listening to yours, then maybe—just maybe—you wouldn't feel as crabby as you do."

The lanky man gruffly turned away, folding his arms in a pout. "Gimme a break. You sound like a preschool show. If there's one thing I've learned here, it's that sometimes, you gotta cheat to get what you want!"

The only response was the muffled sound of music coming from the Grand Hall.

The man paused, realized what the silence meant, and whirled back around. "And don't try to rat me out either, or I'll—"

The small being had disappeared without a trace.

He stopped, letting his shoulders slacken. After a while, he huffed and pursed his lips. Whatever. He didn't know how that guy got in there, and he didn't care. What mattered was the plan. Everything was set in place… well, almost everything. He still had to wait on his comrade who had better answer in the next half hour—

He checked his phone again. Nothing.

Nothing to do but wait, he supposed. No matter. This was one scheme that couldn't possibly fail. He plucked a rose from somewhere on his person.

The spotlight would be his, no matter what.

Chapter Text

In a separate, gloomier, not at all well-lit corner of the Grand Hall, a certain blue-skinned demon stood in the darkness, leaning against the wall and observing the partygoers. His gaze passed languidly over the festivities as he idly swirled his goblet. He spied Ike, relaxed and enjoying a chat with Mr. Game & Watch and Ness. To his left, Riki and Samurai Goroh attempted (keyword attempted) to cut a rug on the dance floor. Next to them, King Dedede laughed raucously at one of his own jokes (from the looks on Falco and Snake's faces, it wasn't one of the good ones). Up above, Skull Kid blithely floated above everyone's heads, poking and prodding at whoever he could and darting away at the last minute with an impish giggle.

Devil took a sip of his goblet, a curious concoction known as the Noble Pursuit. Interesting flavor, he thought, smacking his lips. He'd have to get the recipe for it sometime.

A soft, mechanical rasp tugged at Devil's ear for his attention. Figuring he had nothing else to do, he turned and addressed the giant brain to his right. "I must admit, I did not think you would see it fit to attend, creature of flesh and steel."

Mother Brain regarded him as she did everything else: coldly, impassively, and with a mild dose of contempt. "You speak as though I was given a choice. The tournament organizers demanded that I should attend these festivities, this gala. I suspect it is merely a front so the hunter can keep an eye on me." Her eye turned towards the hunter in question, who was currently distracted by Kirby tugging at her sleeve. "At any rate, it allows me to observe these lesser life forms, to learn their weaknesses. Lull them into a sense of security, and strike when their guard is down."

"Diligent as usual, I see," hissed Nightmare from the shadows. He, too, held a glass in his bony hand, filled with a pitch-black liquid that twinkled like the night sky. "We could all learn a thing or two from you."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," sneered Mother Brain. "I trust that the two of you aren't idling in your duties."

"It's always business with you, isn't it, Mother Brain?" drawled a voice, smooth and melodious. Ghirahim stepped out from behind Mother Brain's glass jar, holding a chalice of his own. "It doesn't hurt to cut loose every once in a while, you know."

Devil and Mother Brain stared at the demon lord with identical unimpressed looks. "And what would you have me do?" asked the latter. "Break free from my jar and cavort about the Grand Hall like an imbecile?"

"It would be a sight, I must admit," snickered Ghirahim.

Mother Brain's expression shifted from unimpressed to scornful as her cerebrum throbbed. "Where is Albert?" an impatient Devil asked.

Ghirahim snorted, rolled his eyes, and gave a dismissive wave of his free hand. "Hiding. Drinking. Lamenting. Whatever it is that sniveling old wretches like him do at his age. I don't know, nor do I particularly care." As he took another sip from his chalice, an up-tempo chiptune beat began to play over the speakers. "Oh, I was hoping they'd play this one!" said Ghirahim, his features lighting up. He shoved his chalice into Devil's hand before making his way towards the center of the hall. "Come and join me, if you dare." As the song began in earnest with energetic piano notes, Ghirahim began to step to and fro, moving his arms strikingly as he teleported about in a circle.

Devil stared blankly at the sight. "What in the seventh circle are you doing?"

"I'm dancing, obviously," replied Ghirahim as he struck another pose. "Something you seem to be unfamiliar with, it seems." He reappeared in a different spot, one hand on his hip and the other brushing the hair out of his face.

Mother Brain and Devil could only gawk, half shocked and half nauseated. Nightmare smiled, showing far too many teeth. "Well, you know what they say about all work and no play," said Nightmare. "Perhaps you ought to take the demon lord up on his offer, hmm?"

"Absolutely not," snapped Mother Brain. "I tolerate Ghirahim's eccentricities because his talents are crucial to my plans. And I will need his talents very soon…" She cast her eye at Zero, still standing stiffly in a corner. "…Provided Albert completes his tasks properly."

The villains continued to observe the gala, as the demon lord pranced and teleported and posed around the hall.

Yuri Kozukata lowered herself into an empty chair with a sigh as she gripped her cup. From what the Mii host had told her, it was a moderately popular beverage from the Alola region known as Roserade Tea. The soft lighting overhead made her drink shine and shimmer, giving it a pleasant glow.

She scanned over the gala, letting both her gaze and mind wander. The Hammer Brother, his shell, helmet, and hammer each polished to a shine, lingered around the snack table, keeping his distance from Wario, who continued to eat as if it were the end of the world. Sukapon was leaning against a table, recounting several humorous anecdotes to Nikki, Krystal, and Knuckle Joe (and from the looks of things, he was having much more success than King Dedede). The Ghosts floated idly by, Blinky very obviously boasting about a winning strategy he'd thought up to Shovel Knight, Lyn and Kapp'n. The lighting, soft and ethereal, made the scenery, with so many people from such different walks of life, feel so… whimsical.

But, Yuri supposed, that was what the tournament organizers were aiming for, wasn't it? She took a sip of tea. It was no secret that the Hands took an excessive, some would say amount of pride in his work, and the gala was meant to be the culmination of all his efforts.

She frowned, noting that her cup was empty. On cue, a tiny white glove wearing a sparkly gold cufflink appeared wielding a teapot, which it poured into the cup.

Yuri nodded and gave a small smile. "Yes, thank you, Flies and Hand."

The glove gave a quick salute and floated daintily away.

The last of the piano notes faded away. She had heard some of the Miis talking, mostly about how strict Master Hand was with his schedule, but as well as how he had worked for years to finally make contact with Sora, and now, the hand felt the need to indulge. It struck Yuri, then, that this was one of the biggest undertakings ever carried by the Hands, something far bigger than she could understand, and she—she herself!—had been hand-picked to play a part in it.

She took another sip of tea. That utterly deserved swell of pride sure seemed contagious.

Tiki flopped into the chair next to her, smiling wide with her ears tinged pink. "Whoo!" she breathed, clearly exhausted from dancing. "Enjoying yourself, Yuri?"

Yuri returned her smile, setting her drink down. "You must be having the time of your life, huh?"

Tiki nodded vigorously. "Gods, it's been ages since I've done something like this! Times like these I wish they could last forever…" Her smile dropped, just a bit, as her eyes turned towards Marth in the crowd. "But, I suppose nothing ever does, does it?"

"Yeah," replied Yuri, unsure of what to say. "Yeah."

"Oh, but don't let me depress you with another end-of-an-era lecture. I already put Spring Man through that," she winked. "Let's just focus on the here and now. It's a party, we're supposed to have fun!"

"Yeah, you're supposed to let loose!" Bomberman bounded towards them, a small cupcake in each hand. "You two havin' fun?"

Both women nodded. "It's nice to see everyone in such high spirits," said Tiki.

"Good, good! Not every day you get to whoop it up like this!" Bomberman twirled a cupcake in his hand. "As for me, I'd say I'm having a blast tonight!"

Nobody laughed.

"…So, anyways," coughed Bomberman, trying to switch topics, "when do you think Sora is gonna arrive?"

"Oh, yeah," said Yuri, sitting up a little straighter. "Kinda forgot he was the main event here."

Tiki pondered for a moment. "Most likely, they're saving him for close to the end. Fashionably late, you know?"

"I'd say he's past fashionably late," mused Bomberman, one of his cupcakes conspicuously missing. (How on earth did he—?) "That presentation was like, two weeks ago, but it feels like it's been… forever. I'd say we've been waiting long enough."

In what could only be described as destiny playing a joke, the music faded to silence, and the lights dimmed. Confused whispers hummed across the Grand Hall, silenced immediately when searchlights shone on the west end.

Master Hand and Crazy Hand floated into the lights each wearing cuffs with silver cufflinks that sparkled like diamonds. A microphone rose from a panel on the floor.

"Good evening, everyone," began Master Hand. "You already know who I am, but for the sake of formalities, I will remind you. I am Master Hand, host and organizer of the Super Smash Brothers tournament."

"And I'm Crazy Hand!" came his counterpart. "I'm the cohost and co-organizer of this shindig!"

"It's been quite a ride, hasn't it?" observed Master Hand. "Hard to believe that only three years ago, we held the inaugural festivities in this very hall. And so much has happened since then! New friends have been made," he recalled, locking his gaze with Simon and Chrom, who nodded in response. "Old rivalries have been rekindled," he continued, glancing at King K. Rool and Ridley, the former smirking toothily and the latter raising an eyebrow but saying nothing.

"And in our endeavors," he continued, "dreams—wonderful, seemingly impossible dreams—have come true." He raised the microphone in the direction of Banjo and Kazooie, who raised their own glasses in return.

"Plenty of dreams have gotten broken, too," added Crazy Hand. A heavy atmosphere settled over the partygoers. Isaac, dressed in a dark blue suit, stiffened and turned his gaze towards the floor.

"Many events have come and gone," said Master Hand, expertly dispelling the tension. "And look at where we are now. So many of us, from so many different worlds, all gathered under one roof. Three years ago, this was almost unthinkable. And again, look at where we are now. Truly and honestly, thank you for being a part of this." Applause spread throughout the Grand Hall, punctuated by whistles and the stomping of feet.

"But I suppose you didn't come here to listen to me wax poetic," chuckled Master Hand. "You came to see the final Decidedly Late Challenger. The boy chosen by the Keyblade, the singular most requested challenger during the Smash Ballot: Sora!"

A cheer broke out, and the crowd turned to the stage on the north end, where the spotlights shone expectantly on the curtains.

Nothing happened.

"Well, you can't see him yet," chirped Crazy Hand.

The crowd groaned in disappointment. "Just cut to the chase and give us the key kid already!" shouted King Dedede.

"We will," said Master Hand pointedly. "But before we do…" He puffed himself up a bit. "We have some surprises in store for you."

At once, brass instruments began to play, notes climbing higher and higher. Whoops and cheers erupted from the crowd (most of it from the Mushroom Kingdom inhabitants) as four men in red business suits and black fedoras rose up. The curtains parted, revealing a tall woman with long reddish-brown hair wearing a sparkling halter dress and broad-brimmed hat, facing away from the audience. When the curtains had fully parted, she turned around, tipping her hat with a flourish and holding a tall microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen…" boomed Master Hand. "From New Donk City, introducing Her Honor, Mayor Pauline!"

The crowd roared in approval, shaking the chandeliers on their chains. As the music hit a brief break, the partygoers took to the floor, with Mario offering his left hand to Princess Peach, and Princess Daisy taking both of Luigi's and twirling him around and around, her smile wide and carefree.

If Tiki was excited before, she was utterly thrilled now. "Oh my gods, it's her!" she squealed. She leapt out of her seat and took both Yuri and Bomberman's hands. "Come on, what are you waiting for?"

Her two companions didn't need any further invitation. The music swelled, and they stepped and twirled, skipped, turned and whirled as Pauline began to sing.

"Here we go, off the rails, don't you know it's time to raise our sails,

It's freedom like you never knew…"

Oh, come on! He'd given his partner five minutes. Five minutes, and then, he'd told himself, he'd start the plan. He'd texted him as such.

We don't have much time. they're showing the new guy any time now. You come now or I start without you!

It had been ten minutes ago. And now, to his agitation, they had begun to sing, the refrain of "Odyssey, ya see," sounding through the walls, muffled but still distinct. And to make matters worse, he'd done some recon and seen them dancing together, smiling and being happy together.

The man threw his phone on the ground and stomped on it one, two, three, four, five, six times, its pieces scattering and its bluish-white glow fading to cold, cold black. It didn't matter. He could just buy another one. If he didn't have any money, he could just steal some from his flake of a partner that refused to help him in his time of need, it's not like he'd notice, he was rich enough because he got something, at least, he got all the attention and never shared, never even invited him to a treasure hunt or anything—

…

He took a deep breath. There was no time for this. They'd parade out the new guy any minute now, and where would he be? In the background, as another no-hoper like the rest of them. But that wasn't going to happen. Not this time. Not this time.

For reasons he couldn't quite explain, the words of that little pipsqueak from earlier kept creeping back into his mind, like a really persistent mosquito. All that bitterness and darkness has built up inside of you, and led you to do rotten things…

Bah! What did he know? A half-pint like him could never understand! None of them ever could! He stomped away towards a certain waiting room, trademark sneer finding its place on his face, and knocked on the door. "Mr. Sora?" he asked, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible.

The door opened. Sheesh. This kid's outfit looked even dumber in-person. He blinked up at him with innocent blue eyes. "Oh, hey," he greeted, that infuriatingly lopsided grin stretching his features. Gag. "Is it my turn yet?"

The man tried his best to force his mouth into an even, artificial smile, and forced down the itch to knock the boy upside the head. "But of course," he near-whispered, motioning for him to follow. "Right this way."

Sora's grin grew wider (ugh) as he summoned his big key in a shower of sparkles. "Sweet!" he cheered, hoisting the key on his shoulder. "Let's go!"

They walked and walked down a hallway that presumably led to the Grand Hall. If the boy noticed the numerous staring Miis and the hushed whispers flitting above their heads, he didn't say anything. But the taller man allowed himself a scowl. They're goggling at the wrong guy, he thought. They'll be kneeling at my feet in a couple of minutes.

Eventually, they came to an isolated, dusty door coated in cobwebs. It was dilapidated, unmarked, almost undetectable next to the black walls that surrounded it, and it was unquestionably nowhere near the Grand Hall.

"Ummm…" The furrow of Sora's brow was nearly audible. "Are you sure this is the right place?"

"Of course I'm sure!" said the man, swinging the door open and scattering the three-inch layer of dust. He ignored the boy's coughing and gently, elegantly shoved him inside. He would've outright kicked him inside, but it wouldn't do to raise suspicions. "Now stay here, and whatever you do, don't come out until someone tells you to."

"Uh, sure, I guess," said Sora, slowly nodding. "But when will—"

A harsh slam of the door put an end to any further questions. Finally, that kid was out of the way. Nothing could stop him now! He knew where the music was coming from, and he had his own mixtape for the occasion. His grin widened, breezing right past mischievous and crash-landing headlong into malicious. All that was left to do was wait. It was almost time.

It was almost Waluigi time.

"Let's give it up for Off the Hook, everyone! I trust that should get everyone's blood pumping after the breather of K.K. Slider's performance! Ha ha!"

Master Hand's words were surprisingly chipper, considering that some of the tables had been scattered and a chandelier lay shattered on the floor by the sheer volume of the music. On the stage, an Inkling with shoulder-length tentacles and a sleeveless white dress with an oversized zipper stood basking in the praise of whoever was left standing, while a different humanoid cephalopod wearing headphones and a sleeveless black top was trying to salvage whatever equipment was left.

"Gwa ha ha ha ha!" applauded Bowser, one of the few who had taken the full brunt of the music and was still standing. "Gotta love that kid!"

"I suppose we all do," agreed Master Hand, sweeping up bits of broken glass. Once the performers had left the stage and taken their seats, the lights dimmed once again. "But that, I believe, is enough talk. I believe it's time we got to the point of this gala. I believe it's time we got to the heart of the matter, wouldn't you say?"

A thundering roar of approval was his reward, the remaining chandeliers shuddering above. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached that time. The time where we can truly say that everyone is here."

Crazy Hand snatched the microphone out of Master Hand's grasp. "Are you ready?!"

The Grand Hall reached a fever pitch, the walls trembling.

Master Hand deftly plucked the microphone back. A spotlight shone on the curtains on the stage. "In that case, let's get right into it! Presenting the final Decidedly Late Challenger…!"

There was silence.

…

"…Presenting the final Decidedly Late Challenger!" repeated Master Hand.

Still, nothing.

Confused murmurs floated up from the crowd. Either this was an elaborate joke pulled by Crazy Hand, or something had slipped off schedule. And Master Hand never let things go off schedule.

They turned to the hands in search of an answer, but evidently, the hosts were just as confused as they were. "Hey, what's the big idea?" shouted Little Mac. "Where's the new guy?"

"Now, now, rest assured, everyone," began Master Hand, trying to keep his tone even. "Sora is on his way, but it appears he's, ah… running late, as it were." With a snap of his fingers, he produced a pager from thin air and whispered something into it. From the way his fingers drooped, the garbled chatter that came in return was not a satisfying answer. "He should be, ah, coming very soon…" His tone turned harsh and hushed as he addressed his twin. "Crazy Hand, do you know anything about this?"

The left hand's fingers curled inward. "Beats me," he grunted. "Maybe he got cold feet and bailed?"

"Crazy Hand," warned Master Hand.

"I'm just saying, it's a legit concern! Then again, I've seen his shoe size, so that's unlikely—"

"Look!" came a voice.

Everyone obeyed, turning their eyes to the stage. The spotlight was still there, but it was moving twitchily back and forth, itself searching for Sora. The curtains, which had drawn closed, quivered, as though something was hiding behind.

"Ah, there he is!" sighed Master Hand. "Yes, well…" He cleared his throat. The curtains began to part. "Presenting the final Decidedly Late Challenger, Sora!"

Music sounded from the speakers, snappy chiptune notes playing over an engaging techno beat. The curtains parted fully just as samples of a woman's singing began to play over strings. The spotlight shone on a singular figure on the stage, but it was not Sora. This individual was wearing a purple vest and matching pants over a white pinstripe dress shirt. As if it wasn't obvious enough, he wore a purple fedora with a rose tucked into its band, and as the piano notes hit, he whirled around, revealing the inverted L symbol attached to the front.

"Waluigi time," he announced, his voice low but still painfully clear.

"What," said Master Hand.

"What," said Crazy Hand.

"What," said the crowd, collectively.

Waluigi snapped his fingers and struck a pose. Immediately, purple confetti burst from the higher walls. Behind him, a cardboard cutout of Sora sprang up from the floor of the stage, spray-painted (in purple, of course) to have X's in his eyes and a silly-looking grimace. He spun and posed again, tilting his fedora in what he clearly thought was a sensual, provocative gesture. It was not.

He stepped forwards, gave a little twirl, hopped up and began to moonwalk to his left, where he struck another pose, one arm by his side and the other pointed skyward. He made sure to meet the eyes of Luigi and Daisy, who to his displeasure, were in quite close proximity to each other, one of Daisy's arms around Luigi's waist. No matter. She'd see who the real superstar is in a matter of seconds.

Waluigi shot Daisy a suggestive wink and continued his routine, not noticing the way she gagged and looked away. He moonwalked again, this time to his right, placing one hand on the back of his head and the other on his hip. He noticed, then, that he was in front of some of his fellow assistants. Just as well. He'd been meaning for them to get an eyeful of him. He saw Ashley, looking unimpressed as usual with a hint of utter bewilderment (Waluigi sneered when he noticed Red's sparkling tuxedo); Takamaru, in the back, raising a glass to his lips and stopping short when he beheld the display before him; Tiki, Yuri, and Bomberman, all with identical baffled expressions on their faces; Dr. Wright looking absolutely horrified, eye twitching faintly; Guile pinching the bridge of his nose; Shadow and Phosphora both facing away, not wanting to bear witness to this debacle; Samurai Goroh mouthing a certain four-letter word; Midna silently guffawing and elbowing Isaac, who stared with weary eyes; Spring Man's eyes darting left and right, questioning if anyone else was seeing this; and Starfy, little Starfy, staring with genuine childlike awe at the sight, his eyes alight with wonder.

At least somebody was starting to get the picture.

The music continued. Waluigi returned to his starting position and slid backward, now getting a wider view of the audience. He allowed himself a single moment to bask in it, letting himself drink in the silent praise he was sure he was receiving. Look at them, he thought, glancing at Ghirahim, who looked absolutely affronted. They know this is where I belong: in the spotlight that I deserve. That Sora kid couldn't possibly hold a candle to me!

Waluigi twirled his mustache. There was still one portion left, the big finale. He took a few steps back, plucked the rose from his fedora and placed it between his teeth, and took off running towards the audience. When he reached the edge of the stage, he leapt up high, knee sticking out and the other leg trailing behind him. For a moment, time seemed to slow down as he gazed at his adoring fans as he rose higher and higher. He could've sworn he saw sparkles trailing behind him. Why, he could almost touch the stars if he so wished!

This is it! he thought to himself. This is what I've been waiting for! What everyone's been waiting for! He continued to rise. This truly is Waluigi time…!

So engrossed was Waluigi in his own fantasy, that he failed to notice that as he rose, he was indeed reaching new heights the likes of which had never been seen before.

That is to say, he was about to fly face-first into a streamer. Luckily (or perhaps unluckily), he did notice, but he did so far too late to stop himself.

"Look out!"

"Waaa—?"

The last thing he saw was Starfy, mouth open in a warning, before his vision was obscured by the letter L of "welcome", and all his forward momentum halted. Gravity, on the other hand, was eager to take the reins from there.

"Waaaaaaaaa—!"

Down, down he fell, taking the streamer with him. He fumbled around, limbs flailing, in an unsuccessful attempt to free himself. For a brief, terrifying second, he thought he would break his leg on impact.

Waluigi landed squarely on a table, on his head, sending partygoers scattering. Pain shot through his skull and traveled down his spine to the very tips of his toes. He slid ungracefully onto the floor, where he lay face-up. The only things broken were the glasses on the table, and his pride.

Coincidentally, the music had cut out at that very moment.

Waluigi pried his eyes open, stars dotting his vision. He was surrounded on all sides by fighters, assistants, and the performers that had been invited. They all stared down at him, unwilling to come close.

Wario, who at last finished his feast of snacks, moseyed on over to where his partner lay. "Eh? Where's the key kid? Did he wuss out or something?"

"You… cheater…" Waluigi ground out. He tried to get up to give his supposed partner an earful, but a fresh ache lanced down from his skull to his tailbone, forcing him to lay back down. How dare he, after he failed him in his time of need…?

"M-Mister Waluigi?" came another, softer voice accompanied by a tug on his sleeve. Oh, great. That kid.

Starfy tugged on his sleeve again. "Are… are you alright?"

Waluigi slipped his arm out of the star's grasp. "I'm fine," he spat, evidently not fine. But he was still fine enough to pull himself up into a sitting position, and so he did.

Starfy was there, stubby arms pulled in close and mouth small with worry. Spring Man was also present, scratching the side of his head, wondering what to make of this. In the background, Master Hand floated motionlessly, expression unreadable (which was notable, as he always seemed so expressive given his lack of face). He looked up at Daisy, who did not return eye contact, her face twisted in both disgust and secondhand embarrassment at once. Luigi, at least, had the decency to slip away from the scene under the pretense of getting drinks. So Waluigi sat there for what felt like an eternity, under the judgemental gaze of his colleagues.

Just when he had regained enough strength to pull himself back to his feet, he suddenly felt himself yanked up and lifted high off the ground by a rough hand. He flailed around in his assailant's grip, old anger and indignation bubbling to the surface. "W-Waah?! Put me down, you dunce!"

The hand twisted him around, and Waluigi found himself face to face with sharp, cruel eyes, one brown and the other glowing red. They belonged to the same man that had battered Ryu during the presentation, but tonight he was dressed in a long black trenchcoat and suit.

"Kazuya," came the admonishing voice of Ryu. "Put him down."

Kazuya's eyes narrowed as he looked Waluigi up and down. His lip curled. "Who is this… insect?" he rumbled.

Meeting his gaze, Waluigi matched Kazuya's sneer. "Waah? You don't know me? I'm the guy among all you losers that actually deserved to—"

Telegraphing nothing, Kazuya slammed the lanky man back down to the floor, sending a new pain stabbing right through his jaw and down his spine, sending his teeth rattling. Several attendees moved to stop him going any further, but he paid them no mind, seemingly satisfied with the way Waluigi curled in on himself.

"You think you have any right to be here?" snarled Kazuya. "This is a place for only the most powerful, the champions of their realms. And you?" He smirked, his red eye twinkling. "I've seen the way you fight when summoned. You use a tennis racket, for heaven's sake! You'd be crushed under someone's heel in seconds. If you live that long. You claim to be a true champion, a superstar, but your greatest rival is a mere plumber—" he shot a withering glare at Luigi, who flinched and averted his gaze— "and you still have yet to overcome him!"

At this, Mario stepped forward, hands curled into fists. "'Ey! There's-a nothing mere about Luigi!" He stepped forward, but to his surprise, it was not Princess Peach, but Bowser who stopped him.

"Hold on," growled the Koopa king. An amused grin played on his snout. "I wanna see where he's going with this."

Kazuya disregarded the two, continuing to address Waluigi. "You talk big, but I'll ask you this: Name one time you've ever achieved anything of note." He bent down and met the prone Waluigi's gaze, his teeth bared. "One time you've ever achieved your goals. One time you've ever amounted to anything. One time you've ever been anything other than a failure."

Waluigi did not answer. Waluigi could not answer.

Kazuya smirked again as he straightened back up, arms folded. "As I thought. You stand no chance against me, or anyone. A sorry excuse of a man like you ought to know your place. Pathetic little worm." And with those final words, Kazuya turned on his heel and left, clearly more interested in the refreshments.

Waluigi blinked wearily, suddenly aware of where he was. The fighters were watching him. The assistants were watching him. Wario was watching him. Daisy was watching him. Luigi was watching him. Master Hand was watching him. Everyone was here, and everyone had their eyes squarely on him.

The spotlight, which had followed his routine all the way to its disastrous end, suddenly shut off right then.

Starfy, ever the helpful one, shuffled over to help the lanky man up. "Are you okay, Mister Waluigi?" squeaked Starfy. He shot a dirty look at Kazuya, who was currently sampling some of the drinks. "Mister Kazuya's just a big bully. Did he hurt you?"

Waluigi did not answer. Waluigi did not look at him. He did not look at anyone. He simply stared out from under his fedora at a nearby side door. A cough rang out, most likely from Luigi, that dirty, rotten little—

"Mister Waluigi?" repeated Starfy. A hand reached up to tug at his glove.

Waluigi wrenched his arm, however weakly, out of the star's grasp, ignoring the shocked squeal he made as he fell backwards. "I don't need your help!" he shouted, loud enough to echo out of the Grand Hall and through the corridors.

The rising anger in his chest was only matched by the throbbing pain in his jaw. His arms hung limply at his sides. His chest filled with that old familiar feeling, sick and sour like sludge, mixed with bitter, awful defeat.

All that bitterness and darkness has built up inside of you, and led you to do rotten things…

He didn't care about the way Starfy's eyes began to shine with unshed tears. He didn't care about the way Lyndis marched closer, her hand already on her weapon. He didn't care about the murmurs that hummed sparsely through the crowd, watching him, judging him.

With legs that felt like tree trunks and ached like the devil, Waluigi slowly, deliberately stomped out of the Grand Hall. The rose stuck between his teeth slipped out and fell unceremoniously to the floor, its petals long since lost in the impact. The door creaked open, and he was gone.

The silence that followed was oppressive and sullen.

With a loud crack, Crazy Hand reappeared beside Master Hand. "Hey, uh, some of the Miis found Sora. If you wanna go ahead…"

Master Hand's fingers twitched and he regained his decorum. "Ah. Yes, I…" He turned to address the crowd. "I do humbly apologize for that interruption, everyone. Now, presenting the final Decidedly Late Challenger…!"

The rest of Sora's debut passed without further incident, with all the majesty and grandeur that Master Hand had intended. It was truly magical, with Sora flying over the crowd just as he had during the first presentation, sparkles raining down from above. It was truly a magical experience for all in attendance.

But, as was often in that world, word traveled quickly, and very soon, everyone knew that Waluigi was directly responsible for Sora's delay. Most of the fighters didn't particularly care, but it certainly cast a shadow over the assistants.

"Absolutely disgraceful," began Dr. Wright, taking another sip of Noble Pursuit. "Does he have any idea how badly this reflects on me?! On us?!"

He sat surrounded by his fellow assistants, at a table located some distance away from where the rest of the party was proceeding. Clearly, the doctor felt the need to keep a low profile after the night's events. And none of the other assistants could really blame him.

To his left, Nikki nodded sympathetically. "I hate to say it, but… after everything that's happened these past three years, I feel that this was a long time coming." Samurai Goroh sat to the doctor's right, shaking his head with a glass of his own.

"I say we shoulda done something earlier," sighed Phosphora, reclining in midair and examining her nails. "…Not like, 'we' as in us, but 'we' as in you guys. I'm not dealing with that guy."

Dr. Wright removed his glasses and rubbed at his face. "If I had known he was planning something like this, I would have!" he groaned, moving his hands to rub his temples. He poured himself another glass, peering at the liquid once he'd corked the bottle. "What did they put in this, anyway?"

"If you're trying to drown your sorrows, that won't get you anywhere," clarified Goroh. "Not that I blame you. I'm more of a 'drink to victories' kinda guy, but if that were me, I'd drink 'till I—"

Nikki shot him a look, shutting him up. "Listen, Doctor," she said in a gentle voice, "don't try to blame yourself for this. Like, look around you!" She gestured at the festivities spread before them. Several attendants were sitting at their own tables, chatting or eating or simply enjoying the music that resumed playing from the speakers. Sora stood in the middle, finally allowed to mingle with his soon-to-be sparring partners. Or rather, the sparring partners were allowed to mingle with him, as a long line of Smashers waiting for his autograph could attest. "People have already forgotten about it!"

For a split second, Dr. Wright smiled mirthlessly. But it soon faded, his eyes looking duller and wearier than they ever had. "I still haven't."

A moody silence fell on the table. Nikki fidgeted on the spot, her eyes darting between the others. "Ohhhh…! Uh… Isaac!" She addressed the boy sitting at the far end of the table. "You've been so quiet. Help me out here!"

Isaac, who indeed had not said a word since the incident, could only rub the back of his neck. "Yeah, this one's on me, I think," he said at last.

Nikki frowned. "What're you talking about?"

"Waluigi wasn't really even planning on going," Isaac admitted with a sigh. "I was the one who encouraged him to come. But I didn't know he was gonna pull… whatever that was." He sighed again, a more ragged sound this time. "If I knew he was gonna do that, I wouldn't—"

"Absolutely not!" interrupted Dr. Wright, snapping out of his gloom at once. "I'm not letting you shoulder the blame for someone else's fault!"

"You were literally doing the same thing, like, ten seconds ago," remarked Phosphora.

Dr. Wright paused, stiffened, and readjusted his tall green hair. "Ah. Well. Ahem. Regardless, Isaac, playing the blame game isn't going to help anyone. You couldn't possibly have foreseen that."

"I know," said Isaac, turning his head towards the ceiling and blowing out a tired breath. "I know that, but…"An unpleasant feeling made itself known in his chest, pulling and poking at his insides until it could no longer be ignored. He stood up, his face like a storm ready to break. "This isn't sitting right with me. I'll be right back." Ignoring the confused looks on the faces of his friends, Isaac pushed in his chair and walked away.

The boy meandered around the Grand Hall, letting the gentle orchestral notes of a certain song drift over his ears. He did take the time to meet Sora and shake his hand (and he would be lying if he said he wasn't excited), but his thoughts were elsewhere, his eyes searching the crowd.

Eventually, he spied Mario, sitting at a table, a plate of pizza before him (no surprise there), and chatting with Bowser (much surprise there). A smile lit up the plumber's features as he met the boy's eyes, and he waved him over with genuine hearty, boyish glee. "Ey, paisano! C'mere a minute!"

Isaac jogged over to meet him. "Hey, Mario!" he greeted. "You try the piroshki yet?"

Mario threw his head back in short but still merry laughter, earning a small grin from Isaac. "I've-a tried a little bit of everything!" He motioned for Isaac to sit, and so he did. "You enjoying yourself-a so far?"

Isaac paused, thinking about the lovely music, and the gentle lighting, and the impressive spread of food before him. He thought of a man wearing a purple fedora, rose between clenched teeth, falling from the sky, streamer trailing after him. He thought of the same man, limping away in sick, sullen anger, suffocating the room in secondhand embarrassment, the sound of Dr. Wright cringing in his suit nearly audible.

"…Yeah," mumbled Isaac at last.

Bowser raised a single eyebrow, but said nothing. Mario, who did the same, said something. "Eh… you don't-a sound like it. Something bothering you?"

Isaac sighed and let his gaze drop to the floor. "Mario, can I ask you something?"

"Here it comes," muttered Bowser.

Mario shot the Koopa king a look before regarding Isaac. "Alrighty, Isaac," he sighed. "What's on-a you mind, eh?"

The boy willed himself to look Mario in the eye. "Why do you still… put up with Waluigi? Like, how are you still…" The word 'friends' balanced on the tip of his tongue, but he figured that Mario at least had some sense. "…associates?"

Mario leaned back, closed his eyes, and exhaled long and loud, knowing that it was an often-asked question with a very long answer. "You know, Ivan, I've wondered that for a long time now," snorted Bowser.

The plumber shot Bowser another look. ("Actually, it's Isaac," said Isaac.) "Listen, Isaac. Waluigi… it's not that I don't-a like him, per se, it's-a just—"

"Actually, no, yeah, why do you keep inviting him?" cut in Bowser. "I mean, look at him! It's like he exists just to get on everyone's nerves. I'm pretty sure he doesn't have any real friends besides Wario, and even then, I'd say that's a mostly professional thing."

Mario rolled his eyes. "A-listen, the thing with Waluigi is, it's-a—"

"It's because," Bowser continued with a small vertical chop of his hand, "Mario's too much of a goody two-shoes to tell that creep to get lost. I mean, Wario was bad enough—" he shot a derisive sneer towards the man in question— "the last thing we need is two of them running around!" He shrugged. "That, or it's out of pity. Maybe a little of both."

"Hey, come on, now," chided Mario. "Wario's alright when he's behaving himself! He might be greedy, selfish, vain and-a crude, but he's not as rotten as he looks, deep down! Not a guy you want as an opponent, but as a teammate? Hoo-hoo! Mamma mia! You've struck-a gold!"

Isaac folded his arms, unimpressed. "And what about Waluigi?"

Mario froze, his slice of pizza mere inches away from his lips. "Ah…?"

"Is Waluigi 'alright' when he's behaving himself?" asked Isaac. "Is he as rotten as he looks underneath it all?"

Now it was Bowser's turn to shoot Mario a look, a wry smirk that stretched his reptilian snout. "Well?" he inquired, a slight tuck of his chin accompanying the question. "Go on. Ian's waiting."

Mario gesticulated wordlessly for a few seconds ("It's Isaac," said Isaac to fill the silence). After fumbling for a correct answer for what felt like ten minutes, he finally tapped his fingers together and began, "Listen—"

"Nah, he's a scumbag through and through," interrupted the Koopa.

"Bowser." Mario's voice dropped into the tenor of paternal warning. He turned back to Isaac. "Waluigi… I'll admit, he can be a bit… difficult to work with. And against. He's a very flawed person. Who isn't? Sure, he's… incredibly petty at times, y'know, going out-a his way just to mess with someone. And, yeah, I'm-a concede that he's-a kinda conceited, a little bit. He has a tendency to boast a lot, but, you know, who doesn't sometimes? And-a speaking of petty, I don't know why he has it out for my bro, I mean, what did he do to him, he's-a just practicing for tennis, and this-a guy just comes up trying to start something for no reason—"

Mario stopped, again. Bowser's smirk widened. Isaac continued to stare expectantly.

The plumber took a deep breath. "Look. I don't think Waluigi's a bad person. I don't believe anyone really is." He gave Bowser a distinctive cheeky grin at those last words, which earned him a snort and a roll of the eyes from the king. "You see, Waluigi's super great to have on-a you baseball team, or soccer team, or as-a you caddie—"

"Or as a tennis partner?" suggested Isaac.

"Yes, esattamente!" Mario smiled and nodded vigorously. "He's a super athlete! But, to hang out with him—to go to karaoke, or to have a little picnic at the beach…" His smile faded, and he winced sympathetically, inhaling through his teeth. "You understand, yes?"

Isaac scratched the back of his head. "I… I guess." He scanned over the crowd one more time, and slowly got up. "I gotta go look for… someone. Thanks, Mario. I really do appreciate it."

Mario lit up. "Okey-dokey! Thank you so much! Enjoy the party!"

As Isaac turned to go, he overheard Bowser asking in a low hiss, "A 'super athlete', huh? You saw how he was in the Baseball Kingdom. Everyone on his team, leering around him like they didn't wanna be there. Lemme ask you this: if you wouldn't spend a day out with him, do you really want him on your sports team or whatever?"

Isaac did not hear Mario answer.

Isaac ended up searching every corner of the Grand Hall, asking everyone that knew Waluigi (and some that didn't) of his whereabouts. But to his exasperation, no one had seen him since the incident. Daisy in particular was of no help, gagging and saying she didn't know or care where he was as long as he was as far away from her as possible, and that she'd like to keep it that way. Luigi, meanwhile, pulled a face like a Goomba chewing on a wasp, and refused to comment. Isaac didn't blame him.

It was a worker Mii, at last, that finally pointed the Venus Adept in the right direction. She'd seen him limping down the west hall, with "a face like thunder", in her words. Isaac had given her a hurried thanks as he dashed down that corridor, eager to finally address Waluigi's behavior.

But now, as he stared down the doors to Rodin's Gates of Hell bar, he was starting to think he had made a grave mistake.

Isaac swallowed and felt a chill creep up his neck. The place certainly hadn't been easy to find, and it wasn't too hard to see why. A sign bearing its title was placed just at the top part of the wall, its neon glowing sinisterly. Placed just above was a faintly flickering neon silhouette of a demon, dancing drunkenly and wielding two guns. From inside, jazz music, slow and sensual, played faintly from inside. An eerie glow emanated from within, casting a bright blue shadow on the floor and lower walls.

It was definitely not 'for good boys and girls', as Crazy Hand would joke.

Are you sure about this? said a voice in his head. This place feels like a real dump. Literally.

What do you suggest? came another, softer voice. We can't just sit by and watch this happen.

Sure we can! The voice sounded a lot like Midna this time. He brought this on himself. Reap what you sow, you know. I say we just turn right around and leave him to wallow in his own self-pity. I know it's kind of unlikely, but maybe he might actually learn to not be a complete and utter—

Starfy flashed across his mind, eyes wide, tugging at his sleeve. "We have to help him," he whispered.

Isaac stared up at the neon sign. The demon leered right back.

This better be worth it, Starfy, thought Isaac as he pushed the batwing doors open.

Unfortunately for the Venus Adept, the outside was only slightly more inviting than the inside. Isaac had heard stories from other, older Assist Trophies about how bars were, ideally, entertaining yet classy and relaxed places for people to gather after a long day's work. He had hoped, foolishly, that a place called the Gates of Hell would be such a homey affair, with warm mood lighting, sounds of laughter mixing in with smooth jazz, and an amiable bartender, mixing drinks and sliding them across the counter, then wiping it down with a trusty dish towel and giving sage advice to those who asked.

The Gates of Hell was a jarring reality check. The room was dark, with only a harsh blue neon sign bearing the bar's name providing any light. There was virtually no sound, save for the music that dropped in tone from the moment Isaac entered, and whispers, in low voices and in long gone languages that seemed to echo from the corners. There was a smell he couldn't place, saturating the room and turning his legs to jelly. And over the counter, it was fairly hard to miss the wall of guns, swords, and other such instruments of torture.

At least the bartender seems nice, Isaac thought. Isaac hoped. Isaac severely hoped.

"Hey, you can't come in here," said Rodin upon seeing the boy gingerly take another step inside. "I don't make the rules." He paused, watching Isaac's terrified face. "…Okay, I do, but you're still not allowed to buy anything."

"I, um… I'm not here to… buy anything," clarified Isaac, his eyes flicking towards the weapons in the back. "I'm just here to ask. Have you seen—?"

A low, creaking sound answered from the shadows. Isaac tensed up, peering towards a door that led further inside, but relaxed upon seeing it was locked. But not too far away, he noticed a figure sitting near the counter, facing away and almost completely in shadow. It was then that Isaac realized that the sound was not from a door or the faulty piping, or even a demon that could be waiting, but was instead the characteristic vocalization of—

"Waluigi!"

Indeed, there he was, slumped over the counter in his seat, his formerly posh and classy clothes now faded and rumpled, his fedora crumpled and sitting askew on his head, the rose in its brim wilted. "Waaah…" he moaned.

Isaac ambled towards him, but pulled up short as he remembered something. This was a bar, after all. "Hey," he asked Rodin, "has he been—"

"Nah." Rodin shook his head. "He's just been sitting here and groaning all this time. Besides, I don't think he could afford it, anyway. And… you know how he is. If he did, he'd probably go back out there and do something stupid again. If you're gonna take him, go ahead. I don't need loiterers around here."

The loiterer in question stirred as Isaac approached. Upon seeing him, Waluigi's eyes narrowed and his lips tightened. "Waaah. Come to gloat, eh?"

Isaac just sighed, shaking his head. "No, I'm just here to… pick you up." He took the lanky man's arm. "Let's go, man. This place is creeping me out."

Waluigi attempted to wriggle out of the boy's grip, but the events of the day had taken a lot out of him, and he was pulled off his stool and to his feet. "I'm not going back to that stupid gala! Just leave me alone, would you?"

Isaac had half a mind to do just that, as it happened. But once again, something deep within him told him to stay where he was. For some reason, that something looked and sounded a lot like Starfy. That was kinda weird.

"Hey," said Isaac to Rodin, as he led-slash-dragged Waluigi out of the Gates of Hell. "Thanks for… keeping an eye on him."

Rodin remained silent.

"…Mmm." Isaac quickly departed the scene, eager to put the bar behind him at last.

The muffled sounds of the gala could still be heard in the corridors as Isaac and Waluigi walked. Combined with the relative silence and darkness of the halls themselves, it cast an eerie shadow over the two.

At last, Isaac figured that it was a good time to stop. He released his grip on Waluigi's shoulder and wrist, letting the man sink to the floor and sit against the wall. A single light flickered faintly as Isaac sat down beside him. A window had been left open, letting in a refreshingly chill wind. The two sat in silence as the moon shone silver in the night sky.

Isaac stared at Waluigi as they sat. He had known the man since the third tournament to be rude, arrogant, overly competitive, and generally ill-tempered. What he saw felt like a different person entirely. His shiny purple vest had dulled, the cuffs on his shirt had come undone, and his mustache drooped, his eyes covered by his fedora. He'd never seen him so defeated, so demoralized, so… forlorn.

And that scared the hell out of him.

At last, Isaac broke the silence. "Master Hand's really gonna let you have it, y'know," he sighed.

There was no answer.

"You know how big he is on order," he continued. "Disrupting the party he spent so much time on,? You'll be lucky if he doesn't vaporize you on the spot."

No response.

"You think that's bad, imagine what Dr. Wright is gonna say." He laughed a small, mirthless laugh. "Honestly, I think I'd rather get vaporized." He hazarded a glance at Waluigi for a response.

Still, nothing.

The strums of a guitar could be heard from the Grand Hall, the dulcet encore of a white dog singing along. Isaac folded his hands between his knees, choosing to focus on the moon outside. It did look rather nice, in the way a sunset looked nice after one has suffered a devastating loss.

"Why?"

Waluigi blinked, raising his head. "What?"

"Why?" Isaac turned to face the lanky man. "Why'd you do that?"

The lanky man scowled, pulling his fedora further over his face. "That D-lister stole my spotlight. That should be Waluigi out there, getting all the praise and popularity."

Now, there was the Waluigi Isaac knew and barely tolerated. He sighed roughly. "Waluigi—"

"Three times I've been to this tournament, and three times I've gotten the shaft," he continued. "And they add a bunch of losers instead!"

"Not this again—"

"Yes, this again!" shouted Waluigi, rising to his full height. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were hard. "They invited some flat guy, that no-hoper hedgehog, and a fitness trainer, but not Waluigi!"

Isaac sighed. "Dude—"

"Who do they pick? Not Waluigi! But some pipsqueak boxer? A space alien made of poison? A secretary?! Suuure! Ooh, we'll take any of the assistants but Waluigi!"

"If you would just—"

But Waluigi was on a roll now. "Waaaah! Let's bring in that stupid green beanpole waste of air! And then, let's add his brother, but as a doctor this time! Yeah, real originality there! Who could've come up with that?! They even invited Wario…" He paused to take a breath, his mouth twisted into a snarl and the fedora casting a shadow over his eyes, a shadow that didn't quite hide the moisture that threatened to spill. Evidently, Wario's lack of support for his scheme still stung freshly in his mind. "They even invited Wario, but not Waluigi…"

"I mean—"

"Let's bring in Bowser's kid, and the rest of those street urchins! Let's bring in the space girl, who went racing once, and all of a sudden, everyone's sucking up to her! Let's bring in Miss Flower Girl, and now she's gonna be soaking up all the attention that should be mine! And don't forget! Don't forget! That stupid plant that they invited 'cause they thought it'd be funny! It's not funny! It's not fair!"

"Oh, for the love of—"

"Those stupid cheater hands go through all of those different worlds to get a bunch of incidental nobodies to invite to this, and they ignore that the best choice is right there in front of them! And that stupid kid—ohoho, don't even get me started on him—he probably stole my invitation! Cheater! Everybody cheaters!" he hissed.

"…Which kid—never mind. Waluigi, listen—"

"This was supposed to be my chance, my big opportunity to finally get the spotlight that I deserve, and what happens? A bunch of swordfighters, a couple of muscle-bound meatheads, and some stupid kid with stupid clothes and a big, stupid key! I work harder than anyone else here, and what do I have to show for it? Just a bunch of participation trophies, and a bunch of 'better luck next time, loser'!"

Waluigi's voice dropped low. "And now here I am, stuck with the rest of the refuse like that dumb samurai, or that dragon girl…" He turned and jabbed a finger into Isaac's chest. "Or you. Well, I'm not like the rest of you. I am a winner. A real winner. You got that?"

Isaac chose to keep a tight grip on the patience he had left for him. Several answers, a few of them words he tried not to say in front of Starfy, sprang to the tip of his tongue, but he stamped them down. Evidently, this was coming from a place of real hurt. He put a hand on the taller man's arm. "Listen, Waluigi. I know how you feel, but—"

"Oh, knock it off!" Waluigi wrenched his arm out of Isaac's grasp. "Don't give me that! You don't know how I feel! You never will! You don't know what it's like to constantly be put on the sidelines like this!"

Isaac was quiet for a moment. "Waluigi, calm down—"

"Shut up!" cried Waluigi, a vein in his neck throbbing dangerously. "Shut up! Keep your pity! I've been at this sham for three tournaments now! The only reason you're giving me this drivel is because you don't have what it takes to be a real Smasher!"

A flash of irritation sparked within Isaac. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You heard me," Waluigi hissed. "You and the rest of those losers know you never had a chance to get invited, so you just bring everyone else down with you!"

The chill wind died away. Just as well, for a roiling flame made itself known in Isaac's core. "Oh, I'm the one bringing everyone down?" he asked hotly.

Waluigi sneered. "I mean, just look at you guys. A giant floating head? That bird snake thing? That weirdo rabbit with the microtransactions? A Chain Chomp? A puppy? Yeah, real winners there." He stared down his nose at the boy. "I'm the only one with any real substance! Honestly, you people ought to be thanking me for gracing you with my presence."

Isaac pulled at his face with both hands and took a deep breath, desperate to stamp down the indignation boiling inside him. It wasn't working. "Listen…" he said.

The lanky man went on. "And don't forget the rest of those rejects, the ones that almost were! Like that red mutt, or that springy guy…"

"Shut up," said Isaac through his teeth.

Waluigi ignored him. "Or that wannabe gardener knight, or that fake hedgehog…"

"Shut up," repeated Isaac.

"Or that brat from the plains." A small, crooked grin played on Waluigi. "Or you."

Isaac barely even flinched. "Yeah, I've heard that one before," he muttered, his tone carefully controlled. "Wouldn't be the first time you recycled someone else's piece."

"Waaah." Waluigi's mustache twitched faintly. "I suppose it could be worse. You could be that one kid… what was his name? Starfy? Talk about a no-hoper!"

Isaac's knuckles grew white. "…You wanna repeat that?" he asked, his voice low and rumbling.

"What, you got cotton in your ears?" Waluigi raised an eyebrow. "The kid's a no-hoper! A washout! Sometimes I wonder why he's even an assistant!" He shrugged, failing to notice Isaac trembling on the spot. "Wehh. I know we can't all be like me, but still—"

At last, Isaac opened his mouth to speak, and when he did, the earth shook.

"Oh, like you're one to look up to!" he roared. "At least we've been on plenty of adventures! Real adventures! We've saved the world loads of times! But suuuure, everyone wants to be like you! Sitting in the back and playing tennis and wallowing in your self-pity! Yeah, you sure hitched your wagon to a star there!"

The purple-clad man's mouth hung open. The windows, whose panes had begun to tremble from the sound of Isaac's voice, fell eerily still.

"And another thing!" Isaac continued. "It's one thing to be mean towards Luigi, or Baito, or Shadow, or Lyn, or even Goroh, but picking on Starfy? Starfy?! After he was the one person that actually wanted you to come to the gala?!" He shook his head, staring at Waluigi with the purest disdain. "Everyone wants to be like you, huh? Yeah, right. 'Cause if there's anything anyone here has always wanted, it's to be an evil counterpart to someone who barely acknowledges you even exist!"

The words came out as a whip to Waluigi's face, and it was enough for him to slowly recover his ability to speak. "Y-You—How dare you speak to me that way?!" He marched towards the boy, tennis racket raised.

Isaac felt himself flush with anger. It felt good, in a strange way. "And what about Wario, huh? Where was he during all of that? Some friend he turned out to be, huh?" He paused, folding his arms. "You know what I think? I think he just feels bad for you."

Waluigi froze mid-gait, his tennis racket clattering to the floor. "…What?" he asked, his voice suddenly very flat and very small.

"I mean, what other excuse is there?!" asked Isaac, a raging fire lit inside him. "You're his sidekick, but he doesn't even invite you to his treasure hunts, or his company, or anything! Your only friend, and he didn't even help you with that scheme you pulled, did he? You know why? Because outside of being his doubles partner, he's probably taking pity on you, because he sees you as the absolute nobody you and the world know you are!"

The hallway fell deadly silent. Even the noise of the gala, so far away, was quiet. The wind kicked up again, cold and bitter.

Isaac's chest was heaving, the fire inside dwindling away and leaving an odd hollow sensation in its place. He didn't know where that had come from. To tell Waluigi off like that felt good, but not as good as he'd have liked.

Speaking of which, the man in question looked quite shocked indeed, staring at the boy with his mustache drooping and his jaw hanging slack. Even though he was taller than Isaac, he still looked so small. His eyes had gone almost comically wide, and it was then that Isaac noticed just how glassy his eyes looked.

Ah. He'd made a huge mistake.

Isaac hissed in a breath and pressed his palms into his face, the fire in his chest fizzling away to cold, regretful embers. "Waluigi," he groaned, "I'm so sorry—"

"No," murmured Waluigi, his voice unusually flat, "you're not."

Isaac sighed and sank back to the floor against the wall, Waluigi mirroring his action. The two of them sat there, staring at the moon, the sounds of the gala fading to background noise. The wind had turned glacial.

"...You're really lucky, y'know."

Waluigi blinked, the sound of Isaac's voice snapping him back to reality. "...What?"

"I said, you're really lucky." Isaac was looking directly at him now.

The lanky man folded his arms and raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Oh, this should be good," he deadpanned. "How?"

Isaac turned back to the moon. "I mean, look at you. You're friends with Mario, of all people."

Waluigi sneered. "That little goody-goody plumber is not my friend."

"He might not be your friend, but you still know Mario," continued Isaac. "The Super Mario himself. That, like, puts you leagues above everyone else. Do you have any idea how many people around here would swap places with you?"

The purple-clad man remained unimpressed. "To be in the background all the time?" he snorted.

"Not necessarily that, no. To go kart racing with him. To have a party with him, or play golf, or baseball, whatever that is, or tennis with Super Mario." Isaac's gaze fell to the floor. "That's huge."

"Okay, okay, so I know Mario," grouched Waluigi. "So what? What difference does that make?"

"It makes a world of difference," sighed Isaac, giving him a mildly exasperated look, like he couldn't believe he wasn't getting it at this point. "He's one of the frontmen of this whole thing! And you're directly connected with him! You have a huge leg up over a lot of people!"

His eyes turned sad as he went on. "But then you look at some of the rest of us, like Takamaru, or Lyn, or Yuri, Vince, Nikki… they don't have a lot going for them outside of this. Guys like Samurai Goroh, and Dr. Wright, I'm, like, ninety percent certain the tournament is all they have right now."

Whatever retort Waluigi had planned died on his tongue. In all the time he had spent sitting alone, spying and eavesdropping on the others from a distance, he'd never really heard or paid attention to what they did outside the tournament.

"And Saki Amamiya, Jill, Resetti, remember them? They didn't even get invited back at all." Isaac was facing the moon again, but his eyes were somewhere else. "And who knows what's gonna happen to the rest of us? Some of us might not even be here next time. If there is a next time."

"There'll be a next time," said Waluigi. "Those hands have too much pride to just let it fall away like that."

Isaac gave a short bark of a laugh. "Yeah, who am I kidding? Won't have as many people around, but there's gonna be a next time." A cloud passed over the moon, snatching away the moonlight.

The boy's eyes fell on the dropped tennis racket… Charlotte, was her name? He picked her up and handed her back to Waluigi, who took her wordlessly.

"…Starfy really looks up to you, you know," said Isaac after a pause.

Waluigi blinked. "W-what?"

"Yeah," Isaac confirmed, nodding his head sagely. "He was the one that told me you were feeling down after your… chat with Master Hand a week ago, remember? He said he's your friend, 'cause you're friends with Wario."

The image of Starfy, sitting up, his eyes wide and so, so vulnerable, flashed across Waluigi's mind. He suddenly felt like he couldn't bear to look at Isaac. He instead chose to stare at the floor.

"I don't know why he looks up to you so much," Isaac said further. "You or Wario. But what I do know is that he's probably the only one of us that admires you like that. It might be because he's just a kid, but people like that don't come around every day."

Waluigi felt a strange sensation bubble in his chest. Was this guilt? Was this what guilt felt like? "Not every day, eh?" he whispered to himself.

Isaac continued to stare at him. "This is a golden opportunity, something that only comes along once in a lifetime. Why can't you see that?" He paused, chuckling wryly. "Jeez. I sound like Baito."

For the first time that night, Waluigi laughed. "He probably would've fallen over himself twice raving about this place by now."

"Yeah, he probably would've," smiled Isaac. "But anyways. You and me, we've both been in this for three tournaments now. This… this wasn't a problem during the last two. I mean, it kinda was, but not as much as it is now. What I wanna know is, why do you insist on making this such a miserable experience for yourself?"

For the first time that night, Waluigi was rendered speechless. He realized that he couldn't remember a single time in the past couple of weeks, or even months, where he wasn't bitter, or sullen, or irritated on some level.

…How much time had he lost?

"C'mon, man," said Isaac as he stood and stretched. "Up we go."

Waluigi rose, a dull throbbing in his temple announcing the onset of a headache. The sounds of the gala had picked up again, loud cheering echoing through the halls. Isaac turned to stand in front of Waluigi, eyes as serious as those of a seventeen-year-old could be.

"Waluigi, listen. I… I don't want to be your enemy. I don't think anyone does, really. But, if you don't want everyone to completely hate you, you gotta not be…" Isaac gestured towards the man's entire body, disheveled appearance and faint scowl. "Like this. All mean and bitter and angry and stuff." He extended a conciliatory hand. "So… whaddya say?"

Waluigi blinked drowsily, his mustache twitching. This was all very new to him. That odd feeling that may or may not have been guilt bubbled and roiled in his chest. He glanced down at Isaac's hand. Was this a trap, a ruse to lower his guard and cheat him out of the limelight again?

"…Why are you being so nice to me?" he asked.

A hand went to the back of Isaac's neck as he sighed. "Like I said, I don't want to be enemies. And…" His words came out slow and stilted, like he was repeating those of someone else. "I think that somewhere, deep down… deep down, you don't want to be enemies either. So, I'm giving you this chance." The boy thrust his hand out again. "Well? Bury the hatchet?"

The possibility that this was a trap hung in the back of Waluigi's mind. Everything felt very, uncomfortably still all of a sudden. He stared at the clouds, which had gone still over the moon. He looked at Isaac, who looked mostly nervous and tentative, but with an encouraging smile trying to break free. He looked down at Isaac's hand.

Starfy sprang to mind, eyes brimming, whispering, "Please."

Waluigi looked at Isaac's hand.

And Waluigi took it.

"…Fine." The very utterance of the word sagged his bony shoulders, his voice hoarse and toneless. He did manage to recover by the time the handshake ended. "But only because I don't wanna get blasted by the hand."

Isaac breathed a loud sigh of relief. "Good. Thank God," he breathed. "Thank God. It's a start." The moon reappeared from behind the clouds, brightening the world once more. "Thanks, Waluigi."

There was something genuine in Isaac's voice, so sincere in his thanks that made Waluigi's chest feel a little less heavy and tight. He chose to ignore it as he shoved his hands in his pockets. "Weeeh. Don't think I'm gonna start playing nice all of a sudden. We might not be enemies, but we're still rivals!"

"Sure, man," chuckled Isaac, relieved to hear Waluigi acting like Waluigi again, and somewhat surprised that he was relieved at all. "Whatever you say. Now, c'mon. They're playing that Lifelight song in there."

Sure enough, the slow but grandiose notes of the music could be heard, however faintly, from the Grand Hall. A chorus was beginning to sing the first few lyrics. "…You do wanna go back, right?"

"Waah! What kinda dope do you think I am?" snorted Waluigi, jabbing a thumb to his chest. "You can't have a good party without Waluigi, can you?"

"Mm-hmm. Suuure." The two of them began their stroll towards the Grand Hall, side by side, a new pep in their step. It was an odd sight, a tall, gangly mustachioed man alongside a boy with a mop of messy blond hair. But there they were, strolling along as if they'd been friends all their lives.

Waluigi's thoughts were muddled as he walked, swirling around in his head like a snowglobe in the hands of a toddler. He still wasn't truly happy with his lot in the tournament. He knew he deserved better. He also knew that Dr. Wright was sure to haul him over the coals once this was over, to say nothing of what Master Hand and Crazy Hand were going to do. Furthermore, he knew that the rest of the party, fighter and assistant, wouldn't exactly be thrilled to see him back. Except Starfy. He seemed like a nice kid.

But for now, if only for a moment… it was nice to finally be among people he might call… friends? Rivals?

…Acquaintances, maybe. But, it was a start. A new start, a new lease on life… To see the world with a fresher disposition…?

Now, that, he was happy with.

Chapter Text

The misty sunlight shone on the mansion one morning, casting a rosy hue on the land below. The sun bloomed on the horizon, its petals beaming outwards and onwards onto the world. One such petal made its way into a particular room in the mansion, illuminating the area and beaming directly onto the snout of a light-blue, low-slung crocodilian dozing in a pet bed.

The Klaptrap, as the creature was known by residents of Donkey Kong Island, yawned and stretched as the light kissed its snout, warming its scales. Heavy eyelids fluttered open as it crawled to its left to more efficiently lounge in the sun streaming through the window. Its wide-open jaws allowed the light to catch what it considered to be its best and most striking feature: its teeth. Razor-sharp, as long as the average finger, strong enough to pierce through even the toughest of hides, as both the big ape and the King could attest. And regrettably, these teeth belonged to one that used them almost indiscriminately.

Now sufficiently warmed up, the Klaptrap pulled itself up on all fours. Today, it decided, was a good day to bite. And bite it would.

The Klaptrap blinked the remaining sleep out of its eyes and looked around. The walls were a pleasant shade of teal that almost matched its scales, with vinyl wall decals shaped like palm trees posted on opposite walls. Some days, if the weather was just right, the wind would carry through the open window, bringing with it the smell of the sea, and sandy beaches, and memories of thick, lush jungles, practically alive itself with the constant clamor of the native fauna.

…But this was no time to be lost in memories! There was a world just outside, and many things to bite! Filled with vigor for the upcoming day ahead, the Klaptrap leapt towards the door, ready to take on whatever challenges awaited behind it…!

…And crashed, snout-first, into the door.

The Klaptrap righted itself. What had happened? Where were the challenges? Where were the things that needed to be bitten? Its eyes fell on the door, solid and unmoving.

Ah.

Curse these doors in this mansion! The door handles were too high for one as close to the ground as itself to reach! The Klaptrap was tempted to simply gnaw through the door itself, but it was so smooth, there was no point where it could get a grip and start chewing. And on top of that, the sill was made of metal. Evidently, the crocodilian thought with a frown, the doormakers had learned their lesson from last time.

The Klaptrap glanced up at the handle, the morning light glinting off its metal. Perhaps it could jump up and turn the handle, as it had seen humans do? It crouched low to the ground (well, lower than it already was), and one, two, three…!

Two and a half inches was the peak of its jump, compared to the industry-standard thirty-six inch height at which the handle was located.

The Klaptrap snorted as it glowered up at the door. The door stared right back down, tall and forbidding. It didn't even have a window. Why, this was no better than a jail cell!

But that was beside the point. If jumping wasn't going to work, then perhaps climbing would do the trick…

A claw was placed tentatively on the mullion. It was smooth to the touch, but if the Klaptrap dug its claws in, it could find some form of anchorage. Placing both of its forelegs on the door, it pulled itself up, lifting its back legs off the ground.

A-ha! Finally, some progress! The door handle, and its freedom, was only a couple of feet away! Just a bit more to go! Left claw, right claw, left claw, right claw… See, look! The door handle was growing smaller and smaller as it—

…Smaller?

The sound of its own claws scraping against the wood was the tip off that something was wrong. The Klaptrap tried to scramble for purchase at the last second, but it was already too late. It fell back to the ground with an unceremonious plop, thin white lines on the door the sole result of its efforts.

The Klaptrap growled a throaty growl as it glared up at the door again. This was just ridiculous! The sun was already climbing higher in the sky. Before it knew it, the day would be over, and it would be stuck here, trapped in its own room! But how was it to get out? How?

Voices carried from behind the door, some low and tense, some high and squeaky, and all familiar. The Klaptrap's eyes widened as it realized what that meant. It was breakfast time. And food was the most important thing to bite.

The Klaptrap stared up at the door, brass-bound and monolithic. It sighed lightly as it understood there was only one way out.

Slowly, grudgingly, the Klaptrap walked up to the door and began to scratch at the door, in hopes that someone might hear and open the door. It scowled as it put up both forelegs to scratch harder. Ugh. How degrading, being made to beg like some sort of… animal.

…Okay, it technically was an animal, but it was the principle of the thing! The Klaptrap had its pride!

Eventually, and mercifully, the voices ceased for a moment, replaced by a barely audible whisper, one that sounded a lot like the door. There were footsteps, growing closer and closer, and the door—at last—swung open.

"Good morning, Klaptrap!" said Baito, smiling down at the crocodile.

The Klaptrap refused to oblige, instead nipping defiantly at the rabbit's heels as he turned away. The last thing it needed right now was for someone to talk down to it.

Breakfast was served a few minutes later. For the Klaptrap, this consisted of fish (judging by the smell and taste, it was some kind of tuna), served on a plate, grilled to a brownish crisp. The Klaptrap thought cooking it was unnecessary, but it still appreciated the effort. Plus, the meat fell apart pleasantly under its teeth, so that was nice.

With breakfast done, most of the other assistants took their leave, the rest of them milling about in the lounge. The Klaptrap looked around. The furry, winged potato was at the table with the bearded painter, chatting over coffee, the imp with the big horns was floating above everyone else, and the man with the ponytail and the sword held his own drink, staring out the window. Aside from the potato, these people didn't seem like they'd be much fun to bite.

The Klaptrap slipped out through the door just in time as the man with the tall green hair left. At last, freedom! Now it could roam the mansion as it wished. It trotted away from the lounge and merrily up the corridor, its teeth glinting in the light. The world was its oyster, and this Kremling was in the mood for shellfish.

The Klaptrap traipsed through a corridor and into the lobby, bustling with the activity of mid-morning. Yes, this was a prime opportunity! Plenty of quarry to be had here. The Klaptrap was tempted to rush into the forest of legs and snap at anything that moved, but years of experience and many missed meals in the jungles of the island had taught it otherwise. Perhaps this end table would give it a better angle. With all the strength it could muster in its stubby legs, the Klaptrap hopped up onto the table and almost knocked over the potted plant sitting on top. What, or who, would be the Klaptrap's first mark?

To its left, the lady with long green hair was present, chatting with the pale exercise woman. Maybe… maybe.

To its right, the red-capped boy was sitting with the tiny blue turtle that sprayed water everywhere. The shell would be tough, but the tail seemed like a better deal.

Up front, the space bird that talked too much was strutting around like he owned the place. Ah-ha! Now there was something promising! Poultry was an excellent choice for a meal!

The crowd was beginning to scatter. The element of camouflage would soon be lost. Time was of the essence.

Hopping down from the end table, the Klaptrap crouched low to the ground, its jaws nearly touching the hardwood floor. Slowly, carefully, it slunk toward the bird's leg, its movements unnoticed by the people above.

Closer and closer it drew. The Klaptrap eagerly licked its chops in anticipation. It could almost feel the meat and bone crunch under its teeth. Its jaws widened, just wide enough to catch his ankle, and…!

…

…

…This, the Klaptrap thought, did not taste like poultry at all. In fact, it tasted like spandex, cotton, and metal.

"Falco!"

"Gah!"

"What the hell?!"

The sensation of being flung halfway across the lobby was a brief reprieve from the sudden, aching pain in the Klaptrap's teeth. It skidded across the floor and collided with the end table, hard enough to send the potted plant crashing to the ground, but not before making a pit stop at the Klaptrap's noggin.

Shaking away the dirt, the Klaptrap blinked the dizziness out of its eyes to see the bird, glaring down at it, his feathered hands reaching for his weapon, the space fox beside him mirroring his action. In its peripheral vision, it could see a man with a sword and the blue dog with its paws on fire creeping closer.

The Klaptrap was no mathematician, but it knew very well when the odds were stacked against it. Just when it was planning its next move, a pair of hands, heavy and calloused with experience, lifted the Klaptrap off the ground, one hand cradling its lower body, the other clamped firmly over its snout.

"Careful, Simon," came a voice. "That thing's jaws can bite through an Army's skin like paper!"

The figure holding the Klaptrap, evidently Simon, simply tightened his grip on the Klaptrap's jaws. "Hm. Taking care of a mere lizard is light work compared to the wicked forces of Dracula," he replied, marching out of the lobby and into a different corridor.

How dare he! How absolutely dare he! How dare this barbarian try to escort—shepherd, even!—the Klaptrap out of the room, like it was some kind of common pet! It fidgeted and thrashed about in a bid to free itself from Simon's grasp, but it proved a fruitless effort. Its jaws, strong enough to bite through even the strongest of wood, were much less impressive while trying to open. To that end, and the Klaptrap's indignation, a firm enough grip such as Simon's was more than enough to close the Klaptrap's mouth and keep it shut. Blasted lopsided anatomy.

Once they reached the doorway, Simon deposited the Klaptrap on the floor, gently, as a veterinarian would place a kitten on the examination table. The Klaptrap was not a kitten, but it had all the indignant rage of one, and so it hissed and snapped at Simon's fingers when they released its snout.

"That's quite enough out of you," said Simon, in the tone one would use for admonishing unruly children or pets. Ugh. "Now go," he continued, his cloudy blue eyes impassive and penetrating.

The Klaptrap sneered up at him. It was of a mind to leap up and bite down on that chiseled, refined nose of his, twice as hard for the injustices it had suffered at his hands. But one look at his formidable whip, the massive double-bladed axe, and the flask of holy water at his whip, and the Klaptrap knew it would suffer much, much worse than a bop on the head from a Kong or a barrel to the face. So it stared, and sneered, and hoped that this would be enough to intimidate the man.

Simon was not intimidated, not in the least. Without taking his eyes off the Klaptrap, he inclined his head, the message. You may go now.

The Klaptrap's eyes narrowed. Simon's did not.

"Go on, then," repeated Simon, in that same chiding tone.

At last, the Klaptrap growled in defeat, a soft sound at the back of its throat. It was tough, it liked to believe, capable of taking down foes much larger than itself. But this was far, far above its weight class.

With a snort that it hoped conveyed its irritation well (it did), the Klaptrap turned and trotted away from the lobby, its snout and its tail held high. It did not deign to look back at Simon, or anyone else in the lobby. It had to maintain at least some of its dignity.

They probably wouldn't have tasted very good, anyways.

The rancor of the Klaptrap's encounter with Simon soon melted away as it trotted up a flight of stairs and onto the second floor. Losing out on the bird wasn't the end of the world. After all, how many times had it ever seized its prey on the first try?

…At least twice, that's how many! But all the other times, it had gotten them on the fourth or fifth try! If at first you don't succeed, try, try again, as they say! Whoever 'they' were!

And speaking of try, try again! A voice could be heard drifting out from around the corner. From the sound of it, they didn't seem to hear it coming. Perfect.

The Klaptrap slipped behind a door, waiting in ambush. Footsteps, swift and stealthy, drew nearer and nearer. The little Kremling licked its teeth in anticipation. Very soon, it would have its quarry in its jaws. They were so close, it could almost taste them! The Klaptrap went very still as the shadow of its prize came into view. Its muscles tensed up as it prepared to lunge…!

…Oh. It was just the red ponytail man with the glowing sword. He hadn't noticed the Klaptrap at all, simply marching straight ahead.

The Klaptrap frowned as it collapsed onto its belly. Phooey. The one opportunity it got to bite, and it had to be the fellow made completely out of metal! Heaven knew it had had a bad experience with him the last time the two were on the battlefield together. To try to challenge him now could only end in disaster. Especially with that strange look in his eye.

"Understood," he was saying. "I'm en route to the destination as we speak. So far, I haven't encountered any intelligent life-forms on my way. This shouldn't take long."

…What in blazes was he talking about? Was he playing someone's errand boy now? The Klaptrap was thoroughly perplexed. And the way it handled things that perplexed it was simple: bite it until it stops. Its eyes fell on the man's ponytail. From this angle, it did sort of look like a banana. Well, that was justification enough!

Just as the Klaptrap was about to creep up and pounce, it heard a small sound behind it, camouflaged by the subtle ambience of the world outside, the faint squeak of shoe against hardwood floor. The Klaptrap, who had spent much of its life as a hatchling constantly on alert for danger, lest it end up like the rest of its siblings, picked up on it almost instantly. It froze dead in its tracks as a cold settled into its core, like the skeletal hand of a Kackle had gripped its ribcage.

A silhouette appeared just outside of its peripheral vision, and it dove back behind the door. The footsteps grew closer and closer. The Klaptrap waited in complete stillness, staring through the crack in the open doorway.

A pair of black and white shoes with red trim came into view, moving just as swiftly as the robot's. Once they'd passed by, the Klaptrap peeked out to make sure it was safe.

Oh, it was just that black hedgehog, the one that looked just like the speedy blue one. Strange to see him here. And even stranger to see him pause and lean against the wall, long enough to watch the robot to disappear around the corner, then continue walking after him.

…Hold on. Was that hedgehog… following him?

Now this was intriguing. Why would he follow the robot? Was this a game? A training mission? A spying mission? Considering he was trying to keep himself hidden…Was he hunting the robot, as the Klaptrap itself had been?

Well, if it was a hunt he wanted, then a hunt he would get! The Klaptrap grinned as it slithered out from behind the door and padded along some distance away. Take note, no-hoper! This is how you do it!

The hedgehog followed the robot's trail, down a corridor and up several flights of stairs to the top floor before stopping at another corner, and it was there that the Klaptrap paused to scamper under an end table, positioned just so that it could see both its quarries. The robot had stopped in front of a door, a door that the Klaptrap recognized as the office of the Big Hand, but he dared not open it. He was looking back and forth, moving with the same mannerisms the other Kremlings had when they stole the big ape's bananas for the first time. The hedgehog stood and watched, making sure to keep himself hidden. From somewhere on his person, he pulled out a glittering green gem and held it tightly, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the robot.

"Area is secure," the robot was saying. "I'm moving in." The hedgehog gripped the gem even tighter. Both parties remained still, neither of them paying any attention to the small reptile under the table.

Now, the Klaptrap thought, was its chance! It crouched low to the ground and waited, trying to quell the urge to snap its jaws. The gem in the hedgehog's hand looked quite enticing from this angle. So shiny and sparkly… Wonder what it tasted like…

The hedgehog moved again, slightly, barely a twitch of his fingers. Bah! What was it doing? No time to focus on the gem! There were things to do and people to bite!

Slowly, slowly, the Klaptrap crept closer, the only sound the soft click of its claws against the floor. It paused, squatted even lower, wiggled and positioned its tail for that extra bit of support, and lunged…!

The Klaptrap had indeed been aiming for the back of the hedgehog's neck, as was its nature. But in between its usage of its tail as a springboard and the hedgehog's anatomy, it did not, in fact, reach the neck. Instead, in its zeal from at last getting a bite, the Klaptrap launched itself up and fell squarely onto the broadside of the hedgehog's uppermost quill.

Many things happened in quick succession. The hedgehog let out a "Gah!" as all of his quills stiffened on contact. The Klaptrap, trying to get a foothold from its risky landing, did what it came there to do and clamped down on another quill before it could fall off.

It wasn't the worst decision it had made in its life, but it was still a poor decision. White-gloved hands swatted and grabbed at the Klaptrap, trying to pull it off. The Klaptrap, refusing to let go (and more than a little irritated about its current state), only bit down harder on the quill. When one of the hands struck its eye, it snarled and snapped down—harder—on the offending finger. This time, its teeth managed to pierce through the thick fabric and latch on.

No sooner had the Klaptrap bitten the hand than its twin, still hovering above the hedgehog's head, seized it by its middle and rather rudely yanked it off.

Okay, that had been a particularly bad idea.

The Klaptrap barely had time to register the snap of cold recognition in the hedgehog's red eyes before it was flung carelessly aside, like a young girl would toss aside a scrunchie after a long day at work.

This time, the Klaptrap was able to right itself before it hit any furniture. It growled and began to stalk back towards the hedgehog, ready to renew its assault, but stopped dead when it saw his visage. The pinched expression, the faint twitch of an eyebrow ridge, his clenched jaw trying to hide his teeth, gnashing with irritation. In that moment, his face greatly resembled that of the King after that giant gray Kremling had failed to protect one of the King's strongholds, relinquishing one of his lovely golden coins in the process. The others hadn't heard from him since, but it was rumored he'd since moved out of the piracy business and gone into modeling for shoes made of concrete.

Oh, this had been a big mistake.

"What are you doing here?" asked the hedgehog in a carefully controlled tone.

The Klaptrap opened its mouth to answer, but all it managed was an "ah". It tried not to look at him in the eyes, so instead it chose to focus on the—

Oh, right, the robot. He was still there, wasn't he?

The hedgehog seemed to remember at the same time the Klaptrap did, because he whirled around to face him, the gem glowing softly. The robot started, and began to speak into his… wrist?

"Mission compromised. I've been spotted. Returning to base." He turned and fled from the scene.

"Wait!" cried the hedgehog. "I've got a question!" The robot did not stop, his ponytail flipping around the corner and out of sight.

The hedgehog turned back to face the Klaptrap, who was currently trying to slink away. It froze under his gaze, which really did resemble the King's at this point. In fact, if it weren't for the color and the fur and the lack of eye tic, he'd be the spitting image of—

"I was so close to finding answers," he hissed. "Until you interfered."

The Klaptrap swallowed and shrank back. It was beginning to understand—remember, even—why it had felt so fearful when he had come into the hallway. Oh, yes. Definitely the spitting image of the King.

The hedgehog glanced back at the hallway where the robot once stood. "This close to finding out what he's planning…" he said aloud, to no one.

The Klaptrap took the time to take a few tentative steps away from the hedgehog, but he fixed it with that look, the same look that the King had given Kudgel after his failure to stop those two monkeys. The Klaptrap froze.

"If you get in my way again…" said the hedgehog. He stopped, simply staring down at the crocodilian. He did not finish the sentence. His eyes said the rest.

The Klaptrap was off like a shot.

The Klaptrap ran and ran until he was certain that neither robot nor hedgehog had followed him. Once it had slowed down to catch its breath, it was able to get a good look at its surroundings.

In the panic of its escape, it had ended up on the third floor. It was much cooler here than on the top floor. (And a good thing too—good heavens, the air was stale up there.) Someone must have left a window open, for a pleasant breeze wafted on by, bringing with it the smell of outside; of wild weeds, of fresh, tall-grown grass, of caramel-soft flowers, of sweet cherry blossoms, of—

Wait.

Wait. That smell…

The Klaptrap paused and sniffed deeply. There was one smell, so sharp and unmistakable, that drowned out all the smells of a human, it would have been faint, almost negligible, but to the Klaptrap, it was earthy, and wet, and heavy to the point of being overpowering. And it seemed to be coming from inside that room.

What on earth could be producing such a scent? It wasn't unpleasant enough to be the big ape, nor was it quite metallic enough to be the big scruffy oaf with the golden sword. The Klaptrap pressed against the wall and peeked into the doorway, severely hoping it wasn't that biker brute with the horrendous facial hair.

It was not the biker. Instead, inside the room was… a dog.

And atop the dog's back was a duck.

Oho! Now here was a prime target! Both mammal and bird! And from the look of things, neither of them had noticed its entrance yet. This was almost too good to be true!

Slowly, with all the practiced stealth of a reptile its size (which was not a lot), the Klaptrap advanced on its prey. Their backs were yet still turned. Nothing could stop the croc now! Its jaws widened, just wide enough so that it could catch both dog and duck in one go, and it pounced…!

…

…

…This, the Klaptrap thought, tasted neither like duck or dog. It did not even taste like miscellaneous fur or feathers. All it could taste was old metal and gunpowder and—

…Wait. Gunpowder?

The acrid stench of smoke was the Klaptrap's only warning before a flash of red overcame its vision and threw it backwards, sending it sailing smack into the wall.

The Klaptrap waited for the world to stop spinning before it righted itself. A low growl rumbled from its snout. Blasted mongrel and its blasted exploding tin cans. How could it have forgotten so easily?

It looked up at the dog. Sure enough, it and that duck were sitting there, laughing at it. Laughing! Its teeth had nearly been blown out of its gums, and they were laughing. Well, this would not stand! This would not stand!

The Klaptrap snarled as it shook the soot off its scales. The dog stopped laughing long enough to regard the victim of its prank. It bowed down, its elbows low and its rear end sticking up high. Ostensibly, it wished to play, but the grin on its muzzle and the cheeky gleam in its eye spoke to yet more capers.

Playtime, was it? Well, if it was playtime this dog wanted, the Klaptrap was more than happy to oblige! It lunged again, this time aiming for the dog's smug smile.

Its jaws came down on empty air as the dog swiftly dodged, the duck taking to the air in turn. It was a rather clumsy landing, the Klaptrap falling onto its chin as the rest of its body remained upright for a moment before hitting the floor with a plop.

The duck leaned forward and stared at the Klaptrap with a quizzical tilt of its head. And more infuriatingly, the dog snickered—snickered!—as it bowed low again, close enough to get a good look at it, but just far away to avoid any retaliatory snaps of its jaws. Clearly, this wasn't close enough, as it bowed just a bit lower to lick the reptile's snout.

At that moment in time, the Klaptrap was sorely glad there were no others of its kind around to watch its plight.

The next attack came closer, but still missed, the dog hopping back with surprising agility. This time, both dog and duck took this as a sign to retreat, a knavish wink and a jaunty flip of their tails serving as a farewell.

But this was not a farewell, at least, not for the Klaptrap. Its pride had been wounded, spat on, and it intended to see it repaired.

With a hiss, it slithered out of the room and after the retreating forms of the dog and duck. The dog turned its head towards the source of the noise, and it barked in genuine joy as its bright eyes fell on the Klaptrap. Its tail wagged, almost shaking its entire rear, and it bowed low as it had before, mouth breaking into a smile.

The Klaptrap did not return the gesture. It growled softly, deep in its throat.

The dog's smile turned into a smirk, and it took off, the duck thumbing its beak (somehow) as they disappeared around a corner.

So that was how it was going to be, eh? Well, if that was the game, who was the Klaptrap to disappoint?

The Klaptrap was off like a shot, torpedoing down the hall as the dog danced and skipped just in front of its constantly snapping jaws. The duck chose to face forward, wings tucked at its sides, evidently unwilling to mock the Kremling any further. Mercifully, there were no more exploding cans, but its quarry remained tantalizingly out of reach.

Oh, curse this anatomy! With its short legs, it could never catch up to the dog! And the dog—that dog, with its infuriatingly blithe smile—knew this as well, as it slowed down from a full sprint to a healthy jog, hopping and cavorting and frolicking like it was playing in a meadow!

But the Klaptrap was undeterred, scampering up a flight of stairs and narrowly dodging the big lemon with the big mouth. Its heart was pounding in its chest, its claws glided elegantly across the floor, and the wind breezed over its scales in a way that reminded it of the island.

Against the Klaptrap's better judgment, it felt… nice.

Then the dog turned sharply around a corner, the Klaptrap following suit, and when the rest of the hallway came into view, both dog and duck had disappeared, taking any nascent feelings of exhilaration with them.

Wh— Where— How did—?

Before the Klaptrap could fathom that the dog had disappeared, or even deliberate over which direction to go next, it spotted a door, at the far end and to its right, left open just wide enough to invite it in.

The Klaptrap smiled. Cornered.

Its resolve bolstered, it marched up to the door, its jaws primed and ready. Shadows of many different shapes and sizes passed through the crack in the doorway. Without a second thought, the Klaptrap slipped in and pounced…!

…

…

The feeling of scales under its teeth, coarse and roughened with age, was the first thing that enlightened the Klaptrap that something was wrong. The full-throated, pained bellow that seemed to shake the very walls and ground was the second.

The Klaptrap felt its stomach bottom out. It knew that sound very well. Too well. It was the exact same sound it had heard on the wind, when the King had been defeated by those apes for the fourth time. It looked to its right, and saw the dog—that blasted mutt— snickering to itself, before the Kremling's world became a blur as whatever—whoever—it had bitten tried to vigorously shake it off.

As strong as the Klaptrap's teeth were, they were still relative to its own size, and it felt its grip gradually loosen before it was flung across the room for a second time that day. It hit the wall, hard enough to leave a dent, and it rather pathetically fell back down to the floor.

The Klaptrap exhaled, forcing its eyes open. What it saw was a most unwelcome sight indeed.

The dog, sitting there unharmed, still smiling, but less in a carefree way, and more in the way that someone who has found someone to blame in a crisis of their own making did so. The duck, sitting astride the dog, just barely peeking over the dog's head in anticipation. The armored knight with the shovel, pointing it at the Klaptrap. And, on the far side of the room—

The King, who, as it and the rest of the Krew knew very well, was not named for his altruism.

The King, for whom the rest of the Kremlings worked dutifully, if not begrudgingly, and around whom treaded lightly, lest they incur his wrath.

The King, who was currently holding his foot in his claws, right where the Klaptrap had—

Their eyes met, and the snap of furious realization in the King's eyes made the Klaptrap's blood run cold.

Oh, dear.

"You brazen little—!" This time, it was the King who lunged, fracturing the chair that stood in his way. The Klaptrap dove out of the way just in time to avoid being caught in his claws. An acrid smell filled its nostrils, probably the adrenaline. Amidst the din, it thought it heard the knight shouting at the King to stop.

With instinct the only thing guiding its actions, the Klaptrap dove in between the King's legs to make for the opposite wall. Before it could ponder over whether the knight was willing to protect it, its front leg caught on something too warm and rough to be the floor. The Klaptrap lost its footing and lurched forward. For one horrifying moment, it thought the knight had tripped it intentionally.

Time seemed to slow down as the small crocodile tumbled. The King looked astounded, his jaw nearly hitting the floor and his good eye widened enough to match its bloodshot counterpart. The Klaptrap looked down.

There, right under its claws, was another one of those exploding cans.

From the corner of its eye, the Klaptrap could see the dog snickering. Again. That rotten, miserable, wretched little—

In an instant, the moment sprang forward, the can detonated, and the Klaptrap flew—rocketed, to be more accurate—out and through the window, leaving small shards of glass just under its apron.

Luckily for the Klaptrap, the maple tree just outside did not try to catch it as it soared through the air from the force of the explosion. Unluckily, another plant did see fit to act as a proper landing strip; namely, the row of thorny bushes that grew wild just at the edge of the courtyard.

Whether powered by pain or sheer force of will, the Klaptrap leapt out of the bushes and back into the courtyard proper. Some stray birds took frightened flight upon its impact.

Well, wasn't that a fine way of getting out of a scrap! The Klaptrap groaned as it flipped over to flop down on its belly. This entire day had been naught more than a series of golden opportunities yanked out of reach at the last second. It had set out with the world as its oyster, and it had nothing to show for it but raw humiliation and spines stuck in places it couldn't reach!

At that moment, the Klaptrap noticed another bird, plump and brown, unaware of the Kremling's presence. Slowly, it crept closer…

…And immediately winced in pain. Those thorns really dug in. The bird took off.

The Klaptrap huffed as it wandered around the perimeter of the bushes, gliding through a gap and getting stung with yet more thistles. Great. Three times it had tried to bite today, and three times it had failed, and quite miserably. Now it was just… here, walking around like a dupe, with enough thorns sticking out of it like a particularly unpleasant porcupine! (In fact, it had tried to bite a porcupine once. It had ended as well as one would expect.)

It plucked out another thorn—ow—and continued onward past a sign with a red-and-white ball, and began to wonder. Was this just its fate? To be endlessly trampled by Kong, Kremling, and everything in between? To suffer grievance upon grievance, and be tossed aside like the very chew toys it had shredded on Crocodile Isle? To be on the bottom of the social pyramid? To be treated as an animal, a pest?

Out came another thorn. Oooh, that one stung—right under its knee. It needed vindication. It was frustrated, it was tired, and it needed to bite someone.

It plodded further into the area. This far inside, there was no one around, the sounds of chatter and merrymaking far away only carried to its ears by a stiff breeze. Just as well. The last thing it needed was for someone to see it in such a sorry state.

Movement from just behind a nearby fence caught its eye. There, frolicking in the grass, was a dog, a different dog from that irritating bloodhound. Its dense and wiry fur was the color of fresh apricots, and it rolled around in the grass and scampered about without a care in the world.

The Klaptrap grinned. This, thank heavens, would be a walk in the park.

Slipping through the fence was nothing—the gap in between the two pieces of wood was big enough that even larger Klaptraps than itself could squeeze through. The dog was chasing a butterfly, facing away from the Kremling. Silly creature. The Klaptrap crept closer.

Twenty paces were between them. The butterfly flew off, leaving the puppy yipping after it. It reminded the Klaptrap of its earlier encounter with the bird.

Fifteen paces. The dog sat down on the grass. For some reason, the Klaptrap couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss, that it was walking right into a trap. It ignored it, and kept going.

Ten paces. The Klaptrap thought it heard a rumble from far away. The dog turned its head to look at something to its left. The Klaptrap paused, then, after a tense few seconds, continued.

Five. So close. The Klaptrap's jaws widened.

Zero. Without warning, the puppy suddenly stood up to face the Klaptrap, staring right down its jaws.

The Klaptrap froze. Its snout was no more than two inches away from the puppy's. Every instinct in its brain was screaming for it to bite, bite now, but it couldn't. Why couldn't it bite?

Was it shock at being discovered? A rare glimmer of conscience? The Klaptrap couldn't know. It wouldn't even get the chance to know, in fact, for the dog suddenly turned and barked at something to its right, its tail wagging fervently.

An iron ball with circular, fish-like eyes and a row of sharp teeth that put even the Klaptrap's to shame was barreling right towards the crocodile and canine, kicking up dirt as it rocketed across the grass. Right towards the Klaptrap, in fact.

The Klaptrap's eyeballs, which already stuck out of their sockets quite a bit, shot out a good three inches further and snapped back inside, much like a paddle ball would, as its jaw dropped in a silent, panicked scream. Coincidentally, the klaxon horn of a vintage car sounded off in the distance at that precise moment.

Once it had fully recovered from the fright, the Klaptrap tried to flee; that is, its stumpy little legs pinwheeled in the air for a few moments before it hurried off. And not a moment too soon, either, for the toothy iron ball came down upon it mere moments later!

The force of its landing was enough to knock the Klaptrap right off its feet. It tumbled across the ground and landed flat on its back. The iron ball drew ever nearer, teeth gleaming in the sunlight, and lunged…!

…And came to a screeching halt, mere centimeters from the Klaptrap's tail.

Shaking and quaking like a leaf, the Klaptrap dared to open one eye. Just as quickly, it yanked its tail out of reach and scampered safely out of range. At the iron ball's side, the puppy remained seated, panting. What was the hold-up?

A few steps around the metallic beast revealed the answer. This was no ordinary living iron ball. This was one of those Chain Chomp creatures, tethered to the spot by a chain attached to a wooden stake in the ground. The Chain Chomp tugged and tugged at the chain, but it was no use. It snapped rather uselessly (or perhaps woefully) at the air. To its left, the puppy whimpered and pawed at the chain.

The Klaptrap stared at the Chain Chomp for a long time. A new feeling bubbled and broiled in its chest. It was very unpleasant, like poking and scratching at something withered and neglected deep inside of its being. And the more it looked at the Chain Chomp, softly whining as it pulled and pulled and got nowhere fast, the more this feeling sizzled and churned inside, like a storm.

The Klaptrap could bite as it pleased. The Chain Chomp, stuck in this field with only that puppy for company, could not. It didn't even have any limbs.

…

Whether that feeling that continued to simmer and stew inside was the eager, instinctive desire to bite or the birth of something that could loosely be described as a sense of kinship with a fellow toothed troublemaker, the Klaptrap couldn't tell. All it knew is that for some reason, it had to bite that stake. It just had to.

Slowly, trepidatiously, the Klaptrap crept around the Chain Chomp, which kept its eyes firmly fixed on it. It took a single step closer, and it growled softly in warning. The puppy, meanwhile, stood up and barked, its entire rear end wagging with its tail. It seemed to calm the Chain Chomp down, if nothing else, which the Klaptrap took as permission to come closer.

The small Kremling eyed the stake up and down. It didn't seem like it'd be too much trouble. The Klaptrap had dealt with far tougher. Its jaws widened, and…

Snap!

The stake was no more than a few splinters on the ground, and the chain came loose.

As if it had been waiting its entire life for it, the Chain Chomp rushed off, bounding and rolling and thrashing about, freedom granted at last. The puppy was just as exuberant, chasing after the flailing chain.

Once again, the Klaptrap felt an odd sensation it couldn't place. It watched the two romping about in the grass, a new light in the larger one's eyes. The Chain Chomp was free now. It could bite whatever it wanted, whenever it wanted. And the Klaptrap had freed it. It felt… nice. Pleasant, even.

The Chain Chomp turned back toward the Klaptrap, its fishy eyes staring, and the Klaptrap faltered. This felt significantly less pleasant.

In almost no time at all, the Chain Chomp had crossed the field to reach the Klaptrap. Thunderstruck, the Klaptrap tripped over its own feet as the Chain Chomp's form loomed over it. It shut its eyes, bracing for whatever attack would come its way…

…And was promptly greeted by a rough, slimy tongue dragged across its snout.

The Klaptrap spluttered and coughed as it righted itself. The Chain Chomp was staring down at it, panting, its tongue lolling out, the puppy mirroring the action, almost expectantly. The scene was most unexpected for the Klaptrap; even among the other Kremlings, it had never had such… gratitude imparted on it before.

That, and it never knew the Chain Chomp even had a tongue.

"Oooh, is there a dog party going on here?"

All three turned to the source of the voice (the Klaptrap huffing at being referred to as a dog). An imp dressed in a red straw cloak and wearing a very peculiar mask floated down from above. He paused before he reached the ground, hovering a few inches above the grass as he observed the scene. "Hee hee hee… What's been going on here?"

There was something in the imp's voice and stance that spoke to plans of mischief, with a capital M. It unnerved the Klaptrap as much as it intrigued it, especially when the imp glanced at the Chain Chomp, and the shatter stake, and the Kremling itself.

"Well, well…" the imp hummed. "You set little Bow-Wow free, didn'tcha?" he asked, peering (supposedly) at the Klaptrap.

The Klaptrap nodded, slowly, warily.

"Hee hee hee… I was just about to set it loose myself. Nice job, little newt!" The imp knelt down to pat the Klaptrap on the head. For its part, the Klaptrap was… less than enthused. If anything, it was better than being referred to as a dog.

The imp stood up straighter as it observed them. "Hey… the Bow-Wow has really sharp teeth. And you…" He turned back to the Klaptrap. "You have really sharp teeth, too!"

Well, at least someone finally noticed. The Klaptrap nodded, puffing out its chest a little bit. Suddenly, this imp felt like he was worth listening to.

The imp slyly leaned in, almost squatting. "This gives me an idea…"

And the Klaptrap, who had a very good idea as to what the idea was, leaned in closer, a toothy grin twisting its snout…

Heavy footsteps thundered through the halls of the mansion while the sun was still high. Miis in black suits, some carrying swords, others with energy cannons attached to their arms, and some going unarmed, piled out of the mansion and towards the Day Care. The emergency signal still rang in their ears.

"Alert, alert! Chain Chomp is loose! I repeat, Chain Chomp is loose! Approach with caution. Alert, alert…"

One unarmed Mii approached the pink-haired woman at the entrance, who was currently cowering behind the desk. "Are you all right, miss? Are you hurt?"

The woman jumped at the sound of the Mii's voice. "I-I-I—I'm fine," she said, her voice breathless. "They—they came through here, towards the courtyard—"

"Who did?" interrupted the Mii. "How many?"

"They—ah, there were three of them." She paused to take a breath. "The Chain Chomp was one of them, but there was another, some kind of Totodile, I think. It moved on all fours and it—it leapt over the desk and—and—"

The woman grabbed the edge of the desk to pull herself up, and it was then that the Miis noticed that a huge chunk of her hair was missing. From the look of it, it had been ripped rather roughly off the side of her head, as though something had—

"Who else was there?" the Mii asked.

She sniffed and wrung her hands. "The… the little with that creepy-looking mask was floating behind them, and he—is… is something wrong?"

The Mii cleared her throat after the weary sigh escaped her lips. "No, no, miss, it's fine. We've just… dealt with this before. Thank you for your time." She turned back to the rest of the waiting Miis. "Alright, team, let's roll!"

And roll they did, marching back the way they came and out into the courtyard. No sooner did they get there than they were greeted with quite a sight.

The courtyard was physically in fine form, save for the handful of missing bushes and the tree with a bite conspicuously missing. The visitors, on the other hand… not so much.

"Help us!" cried a voice. "For the love of Arceus, help us!"

"Skull Kid!" came another voice, coming from twin peaks of green hair. "Stop this at once! Come down from there right this minute, or I'll—"

The remainder of the threat went unsaid, for the Klaptrap sprang up to give the unsuspecting man an impromptu haircut.

"Aaauuugh!" He gazed down at the sad remains of his hair and wept as only a man unfairly parted with his coiffure could weep. "That took me fifteen years to grow!"

The Mii that had spoken to the Day Care woman turned back to the rest of her team. "Okay, you guys, I know this looks bad, but we can do this! It's a simple—"

"Look out!" shouted a sword-wielding Mii! "It's coming!"

The group scattered as the Chain Chomp barreled through the group, taking out several Miis and snatching up the one that warned everyone by the seat of his pants, shaking him vigorously.

"Egyaaaah!" The Mii dropped his sword. "Get it off me! Get it off meeeeeee…!"

The Chain Chomp obeyed, letting go at the peak of another shake and sending the Mii flying into the distance.

As the rest of the Mii squadron worked to subdue the beast, the Klaptrap observed the scene from within a bush. It leapt out just as—ah-ha! The little monkey was here! It leapt out and…!

"Yeeeoowch!"

It was fun to bite most creatures, but none of them howled the way a Kong did. Though the green man with the mustache did come close, as the discarded scrap of fabric it had claimed as a prize could attest.

More Miis arrived as the monkey escaped the Klaptrap's jaws, surrounding the little Kremling and pointing swords and guns. But the Klaptrap was not intimidated in the slightest. It crouched down, ready to sink its teeth into these new intruders…

…And was promptly scooped up and away by the imp.

"H-hey!" shouted a gun-toting Mii. "Skull Kid! Get your backside down here right now!"

Skull Kid failed to heed her words, giggling naughtily as he surveyed the scene, one hand over his eyes (which was rather unnecessary, given his mask), the other cradling the Klaptrap like a baby. His passenger, meanwhile, was too distracted by searching for potential targets to protest too much over being held.

Both their eyes fell on what looked like a tall orange squash wearing a cook's hat. Both troublemakers looked at each other and cracked identical wicked grins.

"Bombs away!"

The squash chef looked up just in time to see the Klaptrap descend on him… but too late to actually do anything about it.

Ahhh… now this was as things should be. The Klaptrap, biting some poor soul's face. He was just soft enough to be quite satisfying, and the noise he made combined with the way he flailed around was great fun! Verily, all was right in the world.

The Klaptrap leapt off the squash and moved towards the next target, the frog with the incredibly long tongue. Yes, the world truly was its oyster, it thought as it sank its teeth into the frog's tongue.

Mmmm… shellfish.

Chapter Text

As most everyone knew, Master Hand took a great deal of pride in the Super Smash Brothers tournament, and it wasn't difficult to see why. Creating such a spectacle, connecting so many people in one place, bringing the bravest of heroes, the most wicked of villains, and everyone in between together, not just in the context of pitched combat, but in community, in brotherhood, in genuine friendship… it was certainly a sight to behold. Many participants in the tournament would agree that he deserved to hold his head (or hand, as it were) high. It was, in his words, one of, if not the greatest fighting tournaments in all of creation.

But despite its status as such, the Super Smash Brothers tournament was, for all intents and purposes, a sporting event, broadcast far and wide to all the universes involved. And with the spectators for such an event came those who would bet on the outcome.

Thus, in the third iteration of the tournament, Master Hand introduced the Spectator's Corner, a place where attendees could place wagers on the outcome of any given match. It wasn't just limited to those in the audience—assistants and fighters alike could choose to bet, if they were able. (It was technically frowned upon among the latter, but nobody really paid too much attention to that.) This continued in the fourth tournament, but due to… certain accusations leveled at the organizers, the system was overhauled for the fifth tournament, removing most, but not all, of the monetary stakes. This change was met with mild grumbling from some, and general indifference by pretty much everyone else.

But for those some, old habits died hard…

Somewhere deep below the mansion, far beyond the prying eyes of the directors, three figures sat huddled around an old round table in silent anticipation. The air was hot and dry, smelling of old wood and stale earth, dust dancing in the cone of light cast by a solitary bare light bulb that hung from the ceiling. On occasion, footsteps would sound from above, sending streams of powdery dirt cascading from the ceiling. A single television stood in the corner, reflecting three blurred silhouettes on its glossy surface.

The first figure, a tall man in a leather jacket, steepled his fingers. "Alright," he announced in a low voice. "Everything's all clear?"

The second, an imp wearing a horned helmet, pulled a receiver from the wall and held it to her ear. After a moment, she snapped it back to its place with a nod of her head. "Lookout says we're golden."

"All clear, eh?" The third, a powerfully built man with circle-framed sunglasses, reached down under the table and pulled out a black duffel bag. He unzipped the bag and flipped it upside down, letting it spill out its treasure. Coins of varying sizes colored gold, silver and bronze, each engraved with the tournament logo, tumbled onto the table, with bills fluttering out soon after. The man shook the bag again, and yet more flowed forth. Purple seashells, golden rings, gemstones of a variety of colors, flat, glasslike hearts, orbs colored yellow and blue, and an assortment of golden coins, each with their own sizes and inscriptions, piled up high like a pirate's bounty.

The leather jacketed man grinned. "Alright. Let the games begin."

All three people dug into their pockets and plunked down yet more currency onto the table. More gemstones from the imp, fancily-embossed tokens from the man with the duffel bag, and a variety of golden objects, some with little red and blue baubles attached to them, from the leather jacketed man.

The sunglasses man put away his duffel bag and leaned back in his chair. "Midna, who's on the schedule today?"

Midna pulled out a phone and swiped across its screen, bathing her face in a cold glow. "All the matches today are part of the One-Stock Special. First one is Doctor Mario up against Cloud, then it's… Incineroar against Mr. Game & Watch, oh that should be fun… oh, great. Little Mac versus Jigglypuff. That's gonna take forever. Hmm… blah, blah, blah… oooh! Captain Falcon versus Min Min! That's today's headliner!" She glanced over at the man in sunglasses. "That oughta get your attention, huh, Goroh?" She nudged him with her hair morphed into an arm.

It did indeed get Goroh's attention, as the frown that suddenly adorned Samurai Goroh's face could attest. "Falcon's pretty fast. Plenty of power behind his hits. But he's gotta get up close and personal to get the job done." His lip curled in a contemptuous sneer. "Min Min walls him out. He doesn't have a prayer."

Behind him, the leather jacketed man cleared his throat. "Hate to, uh, correct you, but what makes you think Falcon ain't patient enough to wait her out?"

Goroh turned to face him, the look of disdain on his face quite clear. "It's Falcon. You've seen him fight. You know how he is. All those fancy-lookin' flips and stunts. Sure looks nice when he's up against a big and slow guy like K. Rool or Ganon, but against someone like Diddy or Game & Watch or Sonic, or even Simon or Pit? He'll be lucky if he gets a single hit in."

"Counterpoint," said Midna. "It actually looks way cooler when he does all those fancy combos against Pit."

Samurai Goroh squinted at her. "No, it doesn't."

"It very much does," said the man in the leather jacket.

"See, Rodin agrees with me!" laughed the imp. "You're outnumbered, Goroh!"

"I—buh—" Goroh sputtered. He whirled on Rodin. "You—you're just saying that 'cause you like watching Pit get his teeth kicked in!"

"And you," countered Rodin, peering at him from behind his own sunglasses, "are only saying that 'cause you want to watch Falcon lose."

"Of course I do!" shouted Goroh, pounding his fist on the table. "You would, too, if he beat you to the punch every chance you got! If he constantly got there first when you were chasing your… angels, or whatever, you'd want to see him get beat up, too! I—"

A slap to the back of the head put an end to any further complaining. "Shut up," said Midna, her hair fitting back into her helmet. "Matches are starting."

All three pairs of eyes turned to the television, which Rodin turned on at the push of a button. The screen flickered to blurry life, and after a moment, the static cleared to display the image of two fighters, a man with a well-groomed mustache in an immaculate white coat and head mirror and a lean, yet toned young man with spiky blond hair, dramatically posing next to each other, a jagged line of lightning dividing the two.

"Alright, here we go," declared Rodin, summoning his auctioneer's bark and rubbing his hands. "Place your bets! Who you got?"

Midna slid a pile of gemstones across the table, their purple and silver facets shining in the dim light. "I got six hundred Rupees on Cloud."

Samurai Goroh gathered up two handfuls of coins and held them out to Rodin. "Four hundred space credits on Cloud."

"Five hundred halos on Cloud," said Rodin, tossing a handful of golden baubles onto the pile.

On the screen, a wall of multicolored pills fell away to reveal the doctor, while Cloud fell from above and caught his sword with a flourish. From far away, a voice called out:

"Three… two… one… Go!"

The fighters sized each other up, Cloud brandishing his sword, and Dr. Mario bouncing on the balls of his feet. The assistants waited in the darkness of the room, unblinking, brows tightly knitted.

Cloud broke first. He rushed at the doctor, who held his ground, putting up his shield to dodge or counterattack, or perhaps expecting to seize Cloud once his assault ended.

What Dr. Mario (apparently) did not expect was for Cloud to swivel around him and grab him from behind. His shock was palpable even on the television's tiny screen. Cloud kneed him in the stomach and launched him up into the air with a crescent kick, continuing his assault by thrusting the edge of his sword after him.

"C'mon, c'mon! Get 'em!" shouted Midna. "Give 'em the Midgar Special!"

The Midgar Special continued for a few more hits until Dr. Mario was launched too high for Cloud to follow up with any further attacks. Given a brief reprieve, Cloud brought his hands together, engulfing himself in a turquoise aura as a bar that spontaneously appeared above his head began to fill.

Said reprieve abruptly ended the moment Dr. Mario came back down, stomping on Cloud's head with both feet to bounce him off the floor of the stage. Once he properly landed, he immediately followed it up with an arcing headbutt, flinging the swordsman away and dangerously close to the edge of the stage.

"So how long do you think," asked Goroh as the combatants continued to clash, "until Cloud takes it?"

"Okay," began Midna. "Okay. Okay, I have nothing against Dr. Mario, but I do not see him lasting two minutes against Cloud. Even with the adjustments they got for this tournament."

Indeed, a series of quick slashes on Cloud's part had sent the doctor flying away and off the stage. It was only by a well-timed leaping uppercut that Dr. Mario was able to grab the stage's edge.

"Easy money," said Rodin with a small shake of his head. "Easy money."

"Easy money is right," concurred Midna. "If this was during the height of the last tournament, this match'd be over by now."

The fight went on, with Cloud keeping Dr. Mario on the defensive, slowly whittling away at his defenses, and the three spectators watching with slowly waning interest, until Dr. Mario was knocked off the stage once again. He tried to make it back to solid ground, spinning rapidly with his arms outstretched, but Cloud had already chased after him. A decisive midair slash from Cloud put an end to any hopes of recovery, sending Dr. Mario careening into the chasm above which the stage floated.

"Game!"

"Okay then!" declared Samurai Goroh as the display switched to Cloud standing solemnly in a rocky area as confetti rained from above. "Time for the payoff!"

Rodin snapped his fingers, and a dark red leather-bound book, glowing with dark energy, materialized in front of him. He produced a black quill from somewhere on his person and scribbled a few numbers inside. The book glowed even more intensely, and after a moment, more Rupees, space credits and halos spewed forth from its pages, landing in front of each of the bettors.

Samurai Goroh's face split into a grin as he pocketed the money, Midna doing the same beside him. "That's what I'm talkin' about!" he chortled as he counted up his winnings. "Who's up next?"

"Incineroar against Game & Watch." Rodin peered over his book for a moment before snapping it shut, the book disappearing in a puff of red smoke. "Who you got?"

"Five hundred Rupees on Game & Watch," said Midna, sliding her cash to Rodin.

Samurai Goroh thought for a long time. "Eight hundred space credits on Incineroar."

"Y—what?!" Midna's eyes nearly bugged out of her head. Even Rodin looked bewildered. "What?! You're going for Incineroar?! Do you want to lose?!"

"Listen, listen," said Goroh, holding out an open, hopefully-pacifying hand. "Game & Watch doesn't have the endurance to hold out for that long. The minute Incineroar so much as sneezes on him, he's a goner."

"Odds are five to one, Game & Watch's favor," said Rodin. "I ain't gonna stop you, but are you sure about this?"

"Positive." Goroh's face was set, his brows tightly knit. "Once Incineroar gets that Revenge boost, you'll see. Eight hundred on Incineroar."

On the screen, a black silhouette wandered onto the stage along a row of LCD frames, while a red-and-white ball was thrown onto the opposite side, releasing a muscular, humanoid feline creature with red and black fur.

"Three… two… one… Go!"

"C'mon, Game 'n Watch," muttered Midna. "Mama needs a new pair of shoes."

Samurai Goroh frowned. "You don't even wear shoes."

"Figure of speech, ya dunce."

Incineroar held its ground, arms positioned to prepare for a wristlock, as Mr. Game & Watch charged forward full pelt. When the two met in the center of the stage, Incineroar quickly switched its stance, pointing its chest outward, and Mr. Game & Watch leapt upward, fishbowl in hand, to—

"Ca-caaaaaaaw!"

A loud rumble sounded from below, the room shaking with the noise. The three spectators scrambled to regain their bearings as a creature with the head of a bird and the body of a snake (bizarrely, wearing a headset) burst forth from the ground. It regarded the three for a moment, and let out another deafening squawk.

"Burrowing Snagret?!" asked Samurai Goroh. "What the hell's going on?"

When this particular not-entirely legal betting association had first begun, Rodin had somehow enlisted the help of the Burrowing Snagret to act as a sentry of sorts, to keep watch in case anyone were to dig up something they'd rather not see. (Rodin's words.) With its ability to sense the vibrations of intruders above ground, it would make a fine guard dog, or guard snake-bird, as it were.

…But wait. If it was here, then that meant—

"Someone's found us," said Rodin. "Set up the front."

The three of them set straight to work, taking down charts and bulletin boards, gathering up the cash of dubious origin and stuffing it into Goroh's duffel bag, tucked safely under the table, and turning off the television, complete with throwing a tarp over it to cover it completely. Now it looked less like a technically illegitimate betting ring and more like a dusty, abandoned storage room that an imp, a racecar driver, and a fallen angel had made their stomping ground. Still shady, yes, but very much legal!

A knock came from the door, making them all jump. "Who's there?" asked Goroh, breaking the silence.

"Hello?" came a voice, timid and soft. "I'm, uh, here for your delivery…"

Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief. It was only Chef Kawasaki, who wouldn't dream of ratting them out. In fact, he was actually one of the only people privy to their situation… to a certain degree.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, come on in," said Midna. Beside her, Rodin dismissed the Burrowing Snagret, but not before tossing it a few golden coins from his pocket.

The door opened, and Chef Kawasaki hesitantly stepped into the room. He carried a large paper bag in one hand, and a basket of dirty clothes in the other. "I, uh… I brought the stuff you need."

Samurai Goroh snatched the bag from his stubby hand, frowning as he inspected it. "What, no oregano?"

"Yeah, I've been trying to order some, actually." That same hand went to the back of Kawasaki's head. "Feels like it's been on the wait-list for weeks. …Oh! But I did throw in some of those jalapeños you like!"

"Much obliged, chef." Midna took the bag of foodstuffs from Goroh while taking the dirty clothes from Kawasaki, placing the latter in Goroh's hands. "Always a pleasure working with you."

"No problem!" Chef Kawasaki gave a bright smile. "I'm always happy to help people with their culinary aspirations!" His smile faded. "But… what exactly are you doing down here?"

"Laundromat," answered Midna, at the exact same time Samurai Goroh said "taco stand".

Chef Kawasaki blinked. "It's a taco stand… and a laundromat? Like one of those combination stores?"

Midna and Samurai Goroh shared a look. "Yes. That's exactly what this is."

In the back, Rodin pressed his hand against his forehead, slowly dragging it down his face.

Chef Kawasaki just stared at them for a moment. Then, at last, he said, "Well, okay, then." He turned to go, but paused midway through the door. "But wouldn't it be easier to just use the upstairs washing machi—"

Midna shut the door in Chef Kawasaki's face with her hair, making sure to lock it, just in case. She turned back to Rodin and Samurai Goroh with a smile. "I think that went pretty well."

The unimpressed state that Rodin gave her and Goroh told her that it did not, in fact, go very well at all. "Remind me what you said the front for this place was gonna be again?"

"Okay, well, I wanted it to be a laundromat," began Midna, "but Goroh wanted it to be an underground taco stand, 'cause that wouldn't give us away."

"Of course it wouldn't!" said Samurai Goroh. "People love tacos, they wouldn't blink an eye at a taco stand all the way down here!"

"They wouldn't blink an eye at an underground laundromat, either," countered Midna.

"Okay, but are you really going to go to the basement for laundry?"

"Y—Are you seri—? …Yes. That's literally where it's supposed to go."

"What, you don't do your laundry in the kitchen?"

"…Who does their laundry in the kitch—"

"Guys." Rodin's voice cut through the argument, making both parties stand at attention. "I don't give a damn what the front is. Just make sure you're on the same page, alright?" He sat down in his chair and placed the cash back on the table. "Now then, where were we?"

Midna pouted as her hair stretched out to turn on the television. "Still think a laundromat makes more sense."

The television screen lit up, where two well-dressed Miis sat at a desk. Incineroar and Mr. Game & Watch were nowhere to be seen.

"—don't think anyone expected that outcome! Truly an amazing showing from both fighters, but Game & Watch just could not close it out in the decisive moments—"

"Oh, what the hell!" shouted Midna, pounding on the table with both her normal fists and her hair morphed into one. "How the hell do you botch this matchup?!"

The display switched to a replay of Incineroar unsteadily getting to its feet just as Mr. Game & Watch rushed at it. He held up a sign displaying the number 9, and swung with a hammer…

…Right as Incineroar puffed out its chest, causing a flash of flame. Its fur glowed orange as it flashed a toothy grin.

"Oh, come on," groaned the imp as Incineroar grabbed Mr. Game & Watch and suplexed him off the stage. To her left, Samurai Goroh cackled and Rodin wrote in his book, more money spilling forth and onto the table.

Samurai Goroh, for his part, was all too happy to gloat. "Told you Game & Watch doesn't have the endurance," he crowed, counting his cash. "Five to one odds…" He chortled as he pocketed the cash. "Hoho, I'm treating myself tonight! Who's next on the schedule?"

Midna scowled as she checked her phone. "Mac n' Puff. Ugh, and it's on Omega Distant Planet. Screw it, five hundred fifty on Mac. He's too volatile for Puff to catch up."

"Mmm…" Samurai Goroh rubbed his chin. "I'm feelin' good about this one. Seven hundred on Jigglypuff."

"Three hundred on Mac," said Rodin. "Sit tight, fellas. This is gonna take a while."

On the screen, Little Mac jogged onto the stage, flinging off his pink jumpsuit when he reached his position. Across from him, another ball was thrown, this time revealing a round creature with catlike ears and big, glassy eyes.

"Three… two… one… Go!"

Little Mac did not go; in fact, he stayed firmly in place, face guarded, keeping a close eye on Jigglypuff, who had immediately leapt up and begun to float towards him. It took a deep breath and inflated its body, simultaneously floating a few feet higher and backpedaling away from the boxer. As it began to fall again, Jigglypuff reinflated itself to float back towards its opponent, bobbing just out of swinging distance. The moment Little Mac took a step forward, Jigglypuff immediately changed direction, narrowly dodging the swing of his fist.

"If either of you want to interact," Midna told the television, "please be my guest."

After roughly thirty seconds of this dance, Little Mac's patience finally ran out. He charged at the Pokémon, crouching low to the ground, and swung with an uppercut in hopes of knocking it out of the sky. He swung at empty air, just long enough for Jigglypuff to glide right into his face to strike him with a dropkick. Evidently, Jigglypuff had no intention of pushing its luck, for it puffed back out of range just as Mac recovered.

This tango continued for a full minute, with Jigglypuff bobbing and weaving out of the range of Little Mac's punches, only striking once and zipping away before he could strike back. His damage percentage, placed at the bottom of the screen next to Jigglypuff's, grew steadily higher.

"Come on, commit!" Goroh scowled as he sighed through his nose. "Why doesn't it just follow up?"

"Ain't it obvious?" answered Midna, leaning back in her chair. "You've seen how Mac fights. One more attack and he'll just power right through it. And with how light Puff is, it'll get launched like that." She punctuated her assertion with a snap of her fingers.

On the screen, Little Mac darted in for another hit, with all the same luck that his previous attempts got him. This time, Jigglypuff pivoted around to cuff him with a roundhouse kick. The boxer went flying off the stage, and by the grace of some higher power, his general flailing and spinning uppercut was enough to let him grab the edge of the stage.

"Okay, this is gonna take a while." Samurai Goroh rested a cheek in his palm, while Rodin took out a cigar and lit it with his thumb. "At least my guy's still in the lead."

Keeping his eye on Jigglypuff, Mac reared back, preparing to unleash a haymaker. Jigglypuff stayed away, floating in place, preparing to counterattack once the attack whiffed.

A second passed. Two seconds. Jigglypuff finally landed, putting up its shield, and Little Mac swung with a rather vicious body hook.

Jigglypuff's shield shrunk to nearly the size of a fist. Before it could react, Little Mac threw a punch at its foot, which was just enough for its shield to shatter. The force of the shattering launched it up, up and away, out of the boundaries of the stage.

"Game!"

"Oh, what?!" Samurai Goroh threw his hands up. "What was that?! Why would you try to shield that?!"

"I'm tellin' ya," sang Midna with a wag of her finger. "Mac, man. C'mon, you of all people should remember this. Remember when he first became a fighter and he just bulldozed over everyone in those first few weeks?"

Samurai Goroh sat back down, a bit calmer, and nodded, stroking his chin. "Yeah, I remember the media coverage about that. Man, they were on that like piranhas to gristle. All those articles in the Smash Gazette, all those pretentious opinion pieces… the—the rigging allegations!" He covered his eyes and shook his head. "God, that was a rough start. Don't know how Master Hand got through it…"

"Heh. Speaking of a media firestorm…" Rodin paused, steepling his fingers. Midna stifled the sarcastic reply forming on her tongue to look at him, with Goroh mirroring her action. His eyes were hidden by his dark sunglasses, but the way they glinted in the scant light sent the clear message that he had something important to say. "…How do y'all think Waluigi is holdin' up right now?"

Somehow, the light bulb dimmed even further. Midna's expression suddenly became very pinched, while Samurai Goroh pressed a fist to his mouth and avoided Rodin's eyes. Even the vibrations from above, caused by either rowdy footsteps or the digging of the Burrowing Snagret, had ceased.

The… events of that night had attracted the press like moths to a flame. But it was to be expected: for such an interruption like that to happen under Master Hand's watch on live television was unthinkable for those close enough to him. The articles in the Gazette that had come out over the following month seemed almost endless, with some of the more rabid (Midna's words) of them calling for a serious investigation into the situation, if not demanding that Waluigi be outright removed from the Assist Trophy lineup. But even those faded out after a couple more weeks, and things had gone quietly back to normal. For their part, the Mario brothers had dismissed his little stunt as just business as usual for him—just typical Waluigi, acting out as usual.

…But if the official summons Waluigi had received the morning after (and Dr. Wright's shouts that could be heard from Master Hand's office) meant anything, things weren't quite back to normal. There was still tension simmering behind the scenes, if the way the worker Miis whispered when they thought no one was listening held any value.

Speaking of Dr. Wright, had he really felt the need to give everyone a particularly emphatic lecture after he'd finished dressing down Waluigi? Sheesh. That jerk always seemed to drag everyone down with him.

Midna sighed and shook her head. "He'll be fine, probably. If Mario and Luigi are telling the truth, he's probably gotten over it by now."

Rodin kept a stone face. "I, for one, find it weird how Wario's suddenly made himself scarce. Ain't they brothers?"

"I don't think so," shrugged Samurai Goroh. "And I don't blame him. Most likely, he figured it wasn't worth all that trouble with the Hands. He probably got out while the gettin' was good." He slouched back in his chair. "Speaking of getting out, I'm surprised Wally actually—"

"Hold up, hold up, hold up," said Midna, eyes fully trained on the screen. "Last match is starting."

Rodin nodded, his book snapping shut. "Here we go.. Who you got?"

"Six hundred on Captain Falcon," declared Midna, plunking down a hair-handful of Rupees on the table.

Rodin leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "Eight hundred on Falcon," he announced.

Both assistants turned to Samurai Goroh. "Well?" asked Midna. "What's your handle?"

Goroh's hands were folded in front of his mouth. His glasses caught the scant light above, supplying a hard glint to his eyes. "All in, Min Min."

Rodin quirked an eyebrow as Goroh slid his money across the table. "Odds are fifty-five-forty-five, Min Min's favor. You sure about this?"

"All in." Goroh's face was set, beaded with sweat.

On the television, Captain Falcon vaulted out of his Blue Falcon racing machine, while Min Min corkscrewed onto the opposite side.

"This is it, folks! Three… two… one… Go!"

Immediately, Min Min threw a punch with her right arm, equipped with a flaming orange ring—a Ramram, if Rodin remembered correctly. Captain Falcon hopped up to dodge, stray embers barely licking his skintight suit. The stage—Wuhu Island—was big, but Goroh had spoken true: Falcon was fast. He closed the gap in seconds, his punches coming as quick and precise as a thrown medical scalpel. No sooner did Min Min try to block than Falcon caught hold of one of her arms, body-slamming her to the ground and striking with two kicks on the rebound.

Min Min stretched out an arm to grab the edge, narrowly dodging a bicycle kick. She climbed up and threw another punch, this time, hitting the recovering Falcon square in the chin. It wasn't quite enough to knock him out, but it was still enough to throw him off-kilter, forcing him to jump up from below to grab the ledge. By the time Captain Falcon had climbed back up, Min Min had already retreated a bit, choosing to swap from the Ramram to a mechanical dragon head.

"What is she doing?" asked Samurai Goroh. "You have the Ramram; that's the fastest one! Why switch now?"

The fighters clashed in the center of the stage. Or, to be more accurate, Captain Falcon slapped the mechanical dragon, which answered by opening its mouth and firing a laser directly into his face. He took another step forward, and was greeted by its twin, who was all too eager to introduce him to its own laser.

The racer hit the ground and tucked into a roll to get out of range and gauge his next move. The latter action lasted all of two seconds as he burst forward with a flaming kick.

"Falcon Kick!" cried Rodin and Midna in time with Captain Falcon. Samurai Goroh remained silent.

Captain Falcon gave Min Min very little room to breathe. He was in hot pursuit, assaulting Min Min with a flurry of midair kicks and knee strikes, bringing her dangerously close to the edge of the stage. ("Go for the Knee!" shouted Midna.) Leaping up above her, he stomped with both feet, sending her hurtling down into the chasm the stage floated above. Goroh's fists clenched, and the unseen crowd sucked in a breath.

A dragon caught the edge in its mouth just as she slipped by it, barely saving her, but causing her arm to stretch nearly to its limit. Min Min dropped just short of the lower boundaries. The crowd held its breath. The assistants leaned forward, gripping the arms of their chairs. Captain Falcon stood at the edge of the stage, leg lifted to deliver a final kick.

Min Min's dangling arm twitched, almost imperceptibly, and it snapped back into position, rocketing her up back to safety, past the ledge, and directly into Captain Falcon's thigh.

The crowd hollered even louder, watching Falcon stumble backwards. This time, Goroh cheered with his fellow bettors as Min Min landed gracefully on a higher platform.

Speaking of which, she wasn't quite done yet. Just as Falcon regained his bearings, Min Min sent another dragon towards him, its LED eyes glowing. It bounced harmlessly against his shield, which distracted him long enough for Min Min to send the other dragon and hook it around his upper arm.

"What the—"

Min Min yanked, and sent Captain Falcon spinning in place, his body becoming a blur. The crowd rippled with laughter. For his part, Goroh's cackling did not ripple so much as it gushed forth like a high-pressure washer. Min Min switched to a large, mine-shaped weapon, the Megawatt, and moved in closer for the end.

Just as she was within swinging distance, Falcon delivered a sudden, flaming backhanded punch to the side of her head, using the spin as a torque and planting a foot down to stop himself once he had made contact. Min Min tore through the air and back towards the stage.

Samurai Goroh stopped laughing. "What?" he said.

Min Min was able to right herself in midair and send out the Megawatt, electricity sparking dangerously over its surface. Captain Falcon darted past it and leapt up to deliver a powerful knee strike, directly into Min Min's ribcage. Once again, she was sent flying, a magnifying glass graphic highlighting just how close she was to the stage boundaries.

Midna cheered wildly, pounding on the table with her fists. "What?" shouted Samurai Goroh.

The television was small, but it was large enough to see the smirk on Captain Falcon's face. He rushed off the stage, jumping directly towards stage boundaries. His right fist glowed with fire.

"Falcon…!"

It was a miracle no one discovered their hiding spot, so loud were Midna and Rodin's cheers. On the television, the crowd nearly screamed themselves hoarse. Confetti rained down as Captain Falcon stood in the same rocky area that Cloud stood in not fifteen minutes ago.

"What?!" screamed Samurai Goroh.

"All right!" laughed Rodin. His book glowed a dark red as Rupees and halos burst forth like a fountain, the currencies landing in neat piles in front of their bettors. The book glowed again, a dark plum, and all of Samurai Goroh's winnings were sucked right into it, as if someone had turned on a vacuum. Once it was all gone, the book snapped shut with a thud (and, if Midna and Goroh's ears were correct, a distinct belch).

"Oh, come on," grouched Samurai Goroh. He looked towards the ceiling, hands raised. "How do you lose when you can hit someone from halfway across the stage?!"

Rodin could only shrug. "Hey, I tried to warn ya." His smile was sharp and sardonic. "Can't push your luck too much around here."

"Yeah, and considering how badly you lost out there," drawled Midna, "that's probably a walk in the park for you."

Samurai Goroh snorted as he turned his eyes towards the ground. "Yeah, that's real swell. Another day, another point where Falcon screws me out of a prize."

"Well, you know what they say." There was a cheeky glint in Rodin's shades. "You roll the dice, you pay the price."

Midna pulled a face. "God, that was cheesy even for you."

Rodin chuckled. "Couldn't resist." He rose, making the light bulb above sway. "Well. If I stick around here too long, people are gonna start lookin' for me." From the way he stressed 'people' it sounded like a very specific group thereof. "And I'd bet people'll start looking for you, too, if y'all don't clear outta here."

He stooped down and picked up the duffel bag, clapping his hands twice when it was over his shoulder. "Pleasure doin' business with ya."

"Pleasure doing business with ya," Samurai Goroh mimicked. It wasn't a very good impression but that was the point, and Goroh was too cross to care. "Fifty-five to forty five odds… Hey, wait a minute, isn't that my—"

He turned, and Rodin was gone. The light bulb went out with a soft pop.

Midna let out a low, impressed whistle. "I gotta learn how to do that. And you oughta learn how to hedge your bets. Well, see you later." She patted Goroh's shoulder with a hair-hand, snapped her fingers, and disappeared in a cluster of black and yellow rectangles.

Samurai Goroh glared at the place where Midna once floated. "You oughta learn how to hedge your bets," he mocked. It was even worse than his earlier impression. "Sometimes, it feels like nobody takes me seriously."

The Burrowing Snagret popped up from the dirt, knocking over Goroh's chair. It looked around the room before settling on the only other occupant, regarding him for a moment.

"What?" asked the racer. "You here to make fun of me, too?"

"Ca-caaaaaaw!" it said.

"Quiet, you."

The Burrowing Snagret blinked at him, and retreated back underground.

Samurai Goroh huffed as he looked around the empty room. "And he took my freaking bag," he murmured.

He turned to go, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. One day, he'd be the one to claim his prize right in front of Falcon.

Someday.

Chapter Text

The clock struck four in the World of Trophies. The scent of freshly-cut grass sailed on the wind. The sun was beginning to gently tip towards the west, but for the participants in the Smash tournament, the day was still in full swing. And nobody knew that better than Chef Kawasaki, the most esteemed chef in all of Dream Land, who was preparing to cook up a storm for the upcoming dinner rush.

"Okay, first, let's do an inventory check," declared Kawasaki out loud to an almost empty kitchen. "We'll start with the dry goods." He marched over to a set of doors and swung them open. Inside was a variety of crates, sacks, and large cans, stacked neatly, marked clearly, and organized by size and product. Kawasaki produced a clipboard and pen from his apron, and began to walk down the aisles as he marked the paper.

"Hmmm… brown rice, forty-three bags… white rice, thirty-six bags… jasmine rice… yikes, only eight bags left! Better order some more…"

And so this routine continued through the dry goods storeroom, from baking powder to biscuit mix, and from cornmeal to oatmeal. It was a rather large storeroom, but Chef Kawasaki knew it like the back of his hand. Before he knew it, all of the dry goods had been accounted for.

"Phew! Okay, now that that's done, let's check on the meat freezer." With great effort, he pulled open the mighty steel door, braving the rush of bitter cold air that flowed forth from within.

"Oh, boy… flank of a Hylian woodland boar… frozen chicken… frozen beef… frozen—whoops!" Kawasaki's foot slipped on a patch of ice, but he managed to catch himself just in the nick of time before he hit the ground. "Geez… last thing I'd wanna do is slip and fall in here, of all places…"

This routine continued with no further incident as he counted everything in the freezer, from birds of different sizes, to beasts of different worlds. For some reason, Kawasaki couldn't help but feel a bit unnerved by all the meat sitting lifelessly on the shelves. He quickly put it out of his mind. After all, the Smashers would be hungry after all that fighting!

"Where to next…?" Kawasaki glanced down at his clipboard. "Oh-ho, my favorite! The produce section!" He skipped merrily over to a fridge, pulled open the heavy steel door, and strolled right in. And as he began to count the variety of fruits at his disposal, he began to sing a jolly tune based on a song he'd heard in a movie once, with lyrics he made up as he counted each item:

"Apples and mangoes and plenty of cherries!

Grapes, figs, and pears with a box of strawberries!

Bunches of plantains all tied up with strings!

These are a few of my favorite things!"

The chef picked up a box of strawberries and began to waltz across the floor with it. He continued on:

"Carrots and garlic, with sacks of potatoes!

Mushrooms and Chillshrooms and ripe red tomatoes!

Onions and spinach that's fresh picked in spring,

These are a few of my favorite things!"

Kawasaki gently tapped each vegetable as he named them. To an outside viewer, he looked like a fool, completely lost in the music. But as anyone that knew the chef would say, he was completely in his element.

"Peppers and lettuce and fresh pods of snow peas!

Eggplants and plums (which go quite well with blue cheese)!

Walnuts and seeds, those will all boost your moods,

These are a few of my favorite foods!"

Chef Kawasaki paused in the middle of his song. "Hmmm… I forgot the rest of the words. Oh, well."

Once the produce was accounted for, he was able to move on to the dairy fridge. Somehow, he felt a bit more comfortable here than he had in the meat fridge.

"Okay, eggs…? Check. Milk… eight crates full. Butter… sheesh, how many types of butter do we have here…?"

As he pondered the amounts of butter one needed, Kawasaki felt a familiar tugging in his back. His body began to glow a faint whitish-blue that grew more intense with every passing moment. He felt his posture go stiff. I guess inventory will have to wait for a while, he thought to himself. Please don't be Ridley, please don't be Ridley, please don't be Ridley—

There was a flash of light, and the chef was gone, as though he'd never been there.

When summoned, an Assist Trophy would often land squarely on their feet ready to take on whatever opponent they faced. Chef Kawasaki, however, being thrown off his groove by his sudden appearance, landed flat on his face, his toque nearly falling off his head.

"Come on!"

Chef Kawasaki peeled his face off the ground. He was in a large coliseum in the desert, with torches and time-worn statues of dragons in the background. A small platform rose from the ground, propelled by a complex series of gears.

"Bwuh-huh?" The chef blearily looked around and found himself meeting the piercing red eyes of a large Koopa with the horns of an ox and a shock of flaming red hair.

"Yipe! B-B-Bowser!" Kawasaki leapt nearly two feet in the air in surprise and tried to scramble away from him. Light laughter sounded from an unseen audience.

Bowser rolled his eyes. "Uggh, relax, you wimp. I'm the guy that summoned you. Now get over there and roast those fools!"

There on the other side of the coliseum was Wario, Captain Falcon, and a man wearing a trucker hat with his long blond hair tied in a ponytail that Kawasaki identified as Terry Bogard, one of the more recent additions to the tournament. The latter two looked poised and ready to rumble, while Wario simply stared hungrily at the chef, scratching his rear end.

Kawasaki swallowed. "I guess it could be worse," he muttered to himself. "Well, here goes nothing!"

He hopped back and forth, throwing plates at whoever dared come close. But as loud as they were when they shattered, they didn't really do much to stop them. Captain Falcon leapt over the barrage of porcelain and unleashed a flurry of punches into his middle. The chef stumbled and fell backwards.

Before he could get back up again, a hand grabbed the back of his apron and brusquely yanked him to his feet. Kawasaki was suddenly aware of the smell of garlic.

"Oh, no."

Wario pounced on him, grabbing at his toque. "Hey! Where's the grub?!" he asked, eyes glinting with greed. "I know you have some on you!"

"I don't—I don't have any!" gasped Kawasaki as he tried to scurry out of his grasp. "Get off me!"

"No food?!" Wario's face contorted into a scowl. With a big, meaty fist, he swatted the unfortunate chef clean in the face, sending him flying.

"Bwaaaaagh!" Chef Kawasaki scrambled to his feet to try to regain his bearings. As he was about to throw another plate, he felt a faint dry heat on his back. Briefly forgetting that he was in the middle of a frenetic battle, he turned around and found himself staring down the barrel of a bright blue, almost toy-like blaster.

Mega Man winced apologetically, and pulled the trigger.

Chef Kawasaki went flying and bouncing along the ground, much like a potato, if potatoes could feel pain. "F-five?" he asked no one in particular. "There's five fighters here?"

"Try six," a voice hissed in his ear.

A shadow fell over the chef. Its owner, a huge, emaciated dragon-like creature with glowing yellow eyes and a tail that ended in a vicious-looking spike, peered at him with an unreadable expression.

Kawasaki felt a sudden cold in his core. Of course it was him. Of course.

Ridley grinned, letting his teeth glimmer in the light. Before Kawasaki could react, the dragon lanced his tail towards him at record speed. Only a frantic last-minute lurch to the right saved him from being impaled, the tail just barely nicking the hem of his apron. Anticipating this, Ridley seized the chef and slammed him to the ground. He dragged him across the cold stone ground for a distance, forcing the other fighters to move out of his way, before throwing him up into the air.

Kawasaki winced and braced himself as Ridley flew after him. But no follow-up attack came. He tentatively opened one eye to see Bowser struggling with the space dragon, neither of them willing to give up. As Kawasaki landed (on his back), Bowser spat a deluge of fire at Ridley, forcing him to retreat.

Kawasaki took this moment to take a short, desperate breather. His head was pounding, his vision was swirling, and his middle felt like breakfast porridge. He barely even registered a Beam Sword fly over his head. Unless his eyes were playing tricks on him, he thought he saw smoke coming off his own body. He couldn't wait to get back to his kitchen. Just a little more of this and he'd—

A hand clamped firmly onto the back of Kawasaki's apron and forcibly turned him around. He yelped in surprise and flailed his stubby arms as he beheld his newest assailant. Terry Bogard stared at the chef and grinned brazenly.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"No!" cried Chef Kawasaki. "I'm not okay!"

"Buster Wolf!"

For the fourth time over the course of thirty seconds, Chef Kawasaki soared through the air. This time, he finally managed to land on his feet, wobbling a bit as he did so. Now he was right in the middle of the battlefield. Just one more attack… he thought to himself. He readied his ladle to catch anyone that might come close.

At that moment, there was a blinding flash of light, and two items appeared on the scene in quick succession. The first was a large, heavy wooden crate with an obvious danger label printed on. The second, the cause of the flash of light, was a Smash Ball, dropping heavily to the ground and rolling up to Kawasaki's feet.

All the fighters present turned their eyes on the Blast Box, then on Chef Kawasaki, and finally on the glittering, colorful Smash Ball.

"…Oh."

Ridley's mouth began to glow with fire, as did Bowser's, both of them tempted by the Smash Ball but unwilling to get too close to the Blast Box. Mega Man wisely chose to hang back, instead charging energy in his blaster. Wario, Captain Falcon, and Terry, however, threw caution to the wind, each of them lunging forth to break the glowing item.

"Waaa ha ha ha ha…!"

"Power…!"

"Falcon…"

Chef Kawasaki's arms went limp. He didn't have the energy to run, to dodge, or even to scream. All he could do was crouch down low and brace for impact.

Now I know, he thought to himself, how Dark Matter probably felt.

There was a burst of color, a blast of searing heat and splintered wood, a deafening roar, and the acrid stench of burning flesh and clothes.

And then, Chef Kawasaki saw and heard nothing.

Miles away, in the peace and clinical, sterile silence of the Smash infirmary, a certain doctor with a mustache sat watching the six-man brawl in his office. He set down his cup of coffee (Blue Mountain, black, and with a single lump of sugar), on his desk, having nearly spilled it after watching the massive explosion on the screen. Wario, Captain Falcon, Terry, and Ridley had been sent sailing into the distance, leaving only Bowser and Mega Man ("the only one with some sense," thought the doctor) remaining. But what disturbed him the most was that Chef Kawasaki, who had been right at the center of the collision, was nowhere to be seen. He hadn't even seen the telltale explosion of light and color that normally signified an Assist Trophy's exit by knockout. He lightly sighed as he pressed a button on his desk.

"Nurse?" he asked, trying to keep the tiredness out of his voice. "Prepare a bed. It's about to be a very long couple of days for us…"

"Aw, jeez… the poor guy…"

"Lucky Riki found him when he did…"

"Is Mister Kawasaki going to be okay?"

"He'll be fine. Dr. Mario has worked more than his fair share of medical miracles…"

"If nothing else, Terry was very apologetic about it…"

Chef Kawasaki lay in his bed, completely still. His eyes were closed, and he felt so tired—no, exhausted. He felt as if he'd been sleeping for days, and yet he still needed more.

"My question is, why didn't he just get out of the way?"

"Yeah, like he could get out of that huge explosion in time."

"If I was in his place, I would simply teleport away…"

He felt as though there was a huge weight on his chest, and his limbs felt like tree trunks. All he wanted to do was just go back to sleep, just for a moment…

"Yo, Kawasaki? If you can hear me, say something."

"Dude, lay off him! He's in really bad shape!"

"Yeah, but the doctor said he'd be okay, right?"

"As Dr. Mario said, Kawasaki should be fully healed in a couple of weeks. However, I do not think it sensible to wake him up in such a manner."

That voice. He recognized that voice. Slowly, Kawasaki stirred in his bed.

"Meta Knight…?"

There were some small gasps of surprise. He felt something tugging at the sheets. "Chef? Chef! Are you actually awake?!"

Wearily, arduously, Chef Kawasaki opened his eyes. His vision was blurred, and the bright lights of the clinic made his eyes sting. But through it all, he could vaguely make out a variety of shapes in front of him against the smudges of color, including some that he recognized very well.

"Kawasaki! Kawasaki!" chirped a familiar round pink shape that bounced around. "You're okay!"

Now that was a sound for sore ears. Kawasaki smiled tiredly as he moved his head on the pillow. "Hey, Kirby," he croaked.

Chef Kawasaki couldn't quite see it, but he could definitely feel the warm, radiant smile that beamed off the puffball. "You're okay!" he repeated. "I was hoping you would wake up soon!" He started to clamber onto the hospital bed for a hug, but Meta Knight stopped him.

"Not yet. He hasn't fully recovered yet," whispered the knight. From what little he could see of him, especially with that mask on, Kawasaki could tell that Meta Knight, too, was quite relieved to see him awake. He turned back to the chef. "It is good to see you well, Kawasaki," he nodded, eyes crinkled in a smile.

Another voice, one that would be very difficult to mishear even without his injuries, made itself heard. "Boy, Kawasaki, you had us all worried!" piped the unmistakable voice of King Dedede. He was coming into clarity now, his trademark hammer and red royal robes taking shape. "When Kirby and Meta Knight came running in the middle of my royal snacktime, I knew it was serious!" He chortled loudly. "But at any rate, good to see you're still breathing!"

Chef Kawasaki's vision slowly came back into focus. Besides his allies from Dream Land, several other assistants had come to visit him. Now he could clearly see Starfy, Baito, Midna, Tiki, Bomberman, Spring Man, and Knuckles standing around his hospital bed, all wearing expressions of fatigue and relief.

"You… you all came to visit me…" Kawasaki felt as though he might cry. To his side, there was a table stacked with gift baskets and flowers he didn't recognize. He smiled weakly as he spotted one of the notes attached, a crayon drawing of himself next to a pink, smiling circle.

"Ah, he's awake, is he?" In strode Dr. Mario, dark circles under his otherwise youthful blue eyes. Dr. Wright trailed after him, looking like he hadn't slept in days. "You gave us quite a scare, you know."

"We were very concerned when you didn't turn up after that battle," said Dr. Wright. He ran a hand distractedly through his tall green hair. "I was about to send a search party when Riki showed up and dragged your burnt, lifeless—" He paused and composed himself, clearing his throat. "Regardless," he continued, keeping his voice calm, "I'm very grateful that you're alright."

"What… what time is it?" he asked his visitors. His eyes widened as he remembered a crucial detail. "Dinner! I gotta cook dinner for—"

"It's eleven at night," interrupted Dr. Mario, "and it's-a been taken care of. Luckily, Master Hand was able to take-a some time out of his day to throw something together last-minute." He sighed as his smile turned mischievous. "Incredible, universal power, and yet he can't make a decent plate of spaghetti…"

Chef Kawasaki thought for a moment. "Well, what about breakfast? I need to start on breakfast at—Hnnnn—!" His move to get out of his bed was stopped suddenly, a wince coming over his face.

At once, Dr. Wright moved to push him back into bed. "Oh, no, no, no, absolutely out of the question," he tutted. "You won't be cooking for quite a while, I'm afraid."

King Dedede looked more worried than he had been. "Now hold on a minute, there. You're saying he won't cook? For how long?"

"It could be days," answered Dr. Mario, his face grim. "Weeks, even. His biology is-a very… unusual." Some of the people present swore they saw the doctor shudder.

"But if he doesn't cook," asked Tiki, "who will?"

The manakete's question hung in the air. Chef Kawasaki was the only one capable of cooking so much food for so many people in such a short time. Would anyone be able to fill his shoes?

"I'll do it!" cried Kirby, waving a stubby arm in the air. "I'm a great cook!"

Dr. Wright gazed doubtfully down at the puffball. "Can we really trust you to cook so much food without eating any of it?" he asked.

Kirby shifted around uncomfortably. "It was one time…" he mumbled.

"Better idea," said King Dedede, stepping in front of Kirby. "How about I be the chef? I can easily cook up something!"

Meta Knight gave the king a deadpan look. "And how would you fare, being around food without eating any? I would sooner trust Kirby in the kitchen," he said pointedly.

"Yeah, well, I don't see you coming up with any bright ideas," countered Dedede. "Do you even know how to fry an egg?"

"Alrighty, that's enough, both of you," said Dr. Mario. "We'll-a figure something out. For now, I think we should leave Chef Kawasaki to rest for the night, while I make sure his recovery goes as smoothly as-a possible." He nodded curtly at the door and everyone present bid Kawasaki their farewells as they filed out of the infirmary.

Midna hovered lazily alongside Dr. Wright, who was deep in thought. "Okay, doc, what's the plan?" she asked.

"I'm still thinking of that part," muttered Dr. Wright, his mustache twitching. "First matter of order… call an emergency meeting. Things are going to get very difficult, very quickly."

Dr. Wright's emergency meeting was not very appreciated among the Assist Trophies. They dragged themselves out of their beds, grouching and griping about how late it was.

"Seriously?" grumbled Ashley, rubbing at her eyes. "I have to get up at this hour? What gives?"

"Dr. Wright clearly stated it was an emergency," said Shovel Knight. "In all likelihood, I'd say we're in for bad news."

"Bad news, eh?" murmured Red. "I'm missing out on my beauty sleep for this."

"Beauty sleep? You?!" said an incredulous Hammer Brother. "Since when do you need beauty sleep?"

"Oh, what, like you thought this—" Red gestured to his face— "came naturally? No, sir, this needs ten straight hours of uninterrupted rest, thank you very much! It's a huge thing in the demon realm these days!"

"…Huh," muttered the Hammer Brother, scratching the side of his helmet. "Didn't think demons were into beauty sleep. Or, like, sleep at all."

"Oh, yeah, it's huge right now!" nodded Red. "Just like those singing fish you mount on your wall."

Eventually, the main lounge was filled with every Assist Trophy available, save for some that were either outside dozing in thePokémon Day Care or locked away for being too dangerous. Some of them looked more annoyed than others.

"I suppose you're all wondering why I called you here at this hour," said Dr. Wright once everyone had settled in. He was standing in front of a whiteboard, looking nonchalantly at the group before him.

"Yeah, we are," said Marie, who ignored Callie as she dozed off and flopped over in her seat. "What gives?"

"As you know," began Dr. Wright, "Chef Kawasaki was gravely injured in an accident earlier today."

"We know that," stated Rodin. "Word spreads pretty quick around here."

Dr. Wright went on. "So naturally, he is unable to cook for the residents. Master Hand was able to fill in for him today, but he made it very clear this was a lucky break. We currently have no other chefs available."

A murmur spread through the room. They genuinely hadn't considered that Kawasaki was the only one among them with any sort of culinary prowess. If he wasn't able to cook, then…

"Who's gonna cook for us?" asked the Hammer Brother, voicing everyone's concerns.

Dr. Wright gave him an odd smile. "I'm glad you asked that. For, you see…"

With a flourish, he flipped over the whiteboard. The other side had a schedule scribbled onto it, with names written next to certain mealtimes.

"All of you will be filling in for Kawasaki while he recovers."

There were immediate cries of protest among the assistants. "Are you kidding me?!" shouted the Hammer Brother. "I'm already busting my shell being an Assist Trophy and carrying out orders for Lord Bowser, and now you want me to cook on top of all that?!"

"This is ridiculous!" argued Dr. Wily. "A genius like me needs to keep his brain in gear, and I can't waste that precious time by cooking!"

"I have a rigorous training program I need to keep up with!" protested Guile. "I don't have the time!"

"This is beneath me—"

"Can't we just order takeout—"

"I don't wanna—"

"That's enough," said Dr. Wright's voice above the din. All complaints stopped almost instantly. "We're clearly in a crisis. Chef Kawasaki isn't able to make food for us. I'm sure some of you have prior engagements to attend to, and that's fine. But if nobody eats, then nobody eats. And some of us…" He flipped over the whiteboard to its blank side and hastily drew a picture of Kirby, his mouth wide open and sucking in air.

"…Will be very upset indeed." He turned to the assembly. "Are any of you willing to explain to Kirby that we won't be eating for a while?"

There was dead silence.

"Precisely," smirked Dr. Wright. He flipped the whiteboard back to its schedule. "Now, then, Shadow, Lyndis, Guile, and Samurai Goroh, you'll be on breakfast duty. After that, Dr. Wily, Starfy, Knuckles, and Ghirahim will be in charge of lunch. And finally, Sablé Prince, Alucard, Riki, and Yuri will be on dinner duty. Are there any questions?"

The room was silent, save for a few stray coughs.

"Very good! Meeting concluded! Now, everyone, get a good night's sleep. We've got a busy day tomorrow!

One by one, the assistants trudged back to their rooms to rest up. Samurai Goroh crossed his arms grumpily. "Oh, great," he grouched. "Now I've gotta get up early."

"Then I suggest you head off to bed," mused Alucard as he passed by. "You'll need the energy for the morning."

"Oh, you're one to talk," shot back Goroh. "You're not a morning person, either! You're part vampire, right? Can you even be in sunlight?"

Alucard's face stilled. "The sunlight doesn't bother me," he said coolly. "Just make sure to get up on time." He bowed and left for his own quarters with a swish of his cape.

Sukapon and Bomberman, meanwhile, had stayed behind to study the schedule some more. "…Can you cook?" asked the white robot.

The pink robot waved his hand in an 'ehhh' gesture. "I can make a pretty decent souffle," he said. "What about you?"

Bomberman shrugged. "I can make soup and that's about it." His countenance brightened a bit. "Gosh," he said, building up to something great. "It looks like we've got a lot on our plates all of a sudden!"

Sukapon was caught off guard, but quickly recovered. "Aaaaaaah…! Oh, that was good!" The two robots doubled up into raucous peals of laughter.

"Give it a rest, would ya?!" roared someone from their bedroom.

Bomberman and Sukapon stopped laughing. "Good night," said Bomberman quickly.

"Night."

And they shuffled off to bed without another word. Tomorrow was a very busy day.

Chapter Text

"Wake up, dimwit," said Shadow the Hedgehog, in a manner that usually earns one a bar of soap in one's mouth.

Through his tightly shut eyes, Samurai Goroh could still see the lights being flicked on. He groaned and turned over in his bed. "Five more minutes," he murmured.

"Wake. Up."

There were footsteps, and then the horrid, sudden cold of his sheets being yanked up and away from him. He recoiled and snatched at the covers, flailing his limbs about. "Gwuh—gah! Give that back!"

"Get out of bed."

At last, Samurai Goroh surrendered. He sat up, fumbled around for his pince-nez glasses, and slapped them on his face. He glared at the hedgehog still holding his precious sheets. "What time is it?" asked Goroh.

"It's five in the morning," replied an unruffled Shadow. "If we're going to cook breakfast for roughly one hundred and eighty residents, we'd better start early."

Goroh's face fell. "H-how many?" he squeaked.

Shadow didn't answer. Instead, he tossed the man a small package. "What's this?" asked the racer.

"It's a hairnet. The health division requires all kitchen workers to wear one." Shadow turned to go, but stopped as he stood in the doorway. "Get dressed, and meet me in the kitchen in fifteen minutes. Don't be late." And with that, he shut the door with a heavy slam.

Samurai Goroh glanced out the window. The sun was only beginning to peek over the horizon, and some stars were still dotting the sky. "Seriously? At this hour?" He sullenly got out of bed and slipped on his vest and t-shirt combo. He stared at the hairnet Shadow had given him. "Pfft. I don't need this," he muttered, stashing it in his pocket.

After getting in a hot shower, brushing his teeth, and pouring a bowl of cereal marked with words he didn't recognize, he trudged out of his bedroom and into the hall.

It was very quiet in the halls of the Smash Mansion, an observation Samurai Goroh found to be more than a bit unsettling. Normally, the hallways would be alive with activity, with fighters chatting about their past matches, future hopes, or even swapping stories about their adventures in their home worlds. A common topic was which of the fighters was a fan favorite. Captain Falcon was often cited as a potential candidate for the single most popular fighter in the tournament. Many of the fighters and assistants alike admitted, begrudgingly or otherwise, that the F-Zero pilot's flashy and stylish maneuvers were a delight to witness. A true crowd pleaser, they called him.

Nothing infuriated Samurai Goroh more than seeing Captain Falcon in such an esteemed spotlight. His broad face contorted into a grimace as he stomped down the hall. That oughta be me up there, he thought to himself. Lousy, no-good, overblown, overrated, high-and-mighty, grandstanding braggart. First he steals my bounties, now he steals my glory! As if thrashing me on the racetrack wasn't enough for him…

For a fleeting moment, Samurai Goroh wondered how long it had been since he had last been on the racetrack.

Pushing those thoughts aside, he found himself standing at the entrance to the cafeteria. Off to the side, he noticed a small box labelled with the words "Suggestions Box—Feedback is much appreciated!" squiggled in marker next to a stack of white slips of paper. He pushed the kitchen doors open and walked inside.

"Thankfully, Chef Kawasaki left us with a menu and a cookbook," he heard Guile say. "…What's a Chansey omelette?"

"I suppose it's like an omelette, but involving the egg of a Chansey," came Lyn's voice. "You remember the pink creature on Saffron City?"

"Oh, that's Chansey?" said Guile. "I never even made the connection until—"

His words were cut off by Samurai Goroh's entrance. Both Guile and Lyn were wearing aprons and hairnets (Guile's flattop seemed like it was ready to break through at any moment), but only Guile saw fit to wear a cook's jacket underneath. Lyn simply chose to wear her regular blue tunic with her apron, and her sword remained at her hip. The moment Goroh stepped foot in the kitchen, Lyn's face hardened and her hand drifted towards her sword. Guile, who had been leaning against the wall, immediately stood up straight.

"You're here," said Lyn. Her voice was still and reticent.

Samurai Goroh swallowed. The man had a reputation for being somewhat thickheaded among his fellow assistants, but even he could pick up on the change in atmosphere."Yyyyyep," he mumbled, trying to sound as benign as possible.

Lyn still kept her eyes trained on the burly man. Guile nonchalantly stepped between them in an attempt to preempt any confrontation. "Okay, that should be all four of us," he said out loud, as if calling to someone out of sight.

On cue, Shadow stepped out from behind a rack of pans. He, too, was dressed in an apron, and his quills were neatly tied under his hairnet. It would've been an almost comical sight had he not looked so serious. He gave Samurai Goroh a quick once-over. "Where is your hairnet?" he asked.

Samurai Goroh sighed. "Look, I have a helmet, it's sorta like a hairnet. I don't need—"

"Put on the hairnet," said Shadow.

"My hair is clean!" protested Goroh. "It's not gonna—"

"Put on the hairnet," said Shadow.

"It's the same amount of protection—"

"Put it on."

"But—"

"Put. It. On." Shadow snapped his head up to glare at him.

Samurai Goroh paused. The hedgehog's crimson eyes were locked directly onto him now, daring him: put on the hairnet, or else.

Goroh hesitated, again. He really didn't want to get pulverized by Shadow; at least, not at this hour. At the very least, he didn't want to hear Shadow curse at him again—not for his sensibilities, no, but because it just felt weird hearing such language come from a three-foot-tall animal. At last, he took his helmet off, fished the hairnet out of his pocket, and stretched it over his hair. "Happy now?" he asked.

Shadow did not answer. He addressed the group standing in front of him. "I assume you've all read the menus Kawasaki left for us."

Lyn and Guile both nodded, while Samurai Goroh just looked confused. "M-menus? What menus?" he asked.

Goroh could almost feel the scowls directed his way from Lyn and Shadow. A pamphlet was thrown at his face from Lyn's direction. He peeled it off and began to read it.

Breakfast

Chansey Omelette

Bagel with Cream Cheese

French Toast

Pancakes (Buttermilk or Buckwheat)

Simple Breakfast Muffin

Eggs Benedict

English Muffin

Galarian Muffin

Breakfast Sausage

There was also a small selection of coffee and other such beverages.

"Guile, you're in charge of anything related to eggs. Start with the omelettes," began Shadow. "Lyn, you'll be on pancake duty. Start with the buckwheat. It's healthier." He glanced pointedly at Samurai Goroh before continuing. "I'll handle the breakfast sausages."

"And what does that leave me with?" asked Goroh irritably.

His response came in the form of packets of round flat breads tossed into his arms. "Go outside and put these on the shelves," responded Shadow. He turned on his heel and left for the meat freezer.

Samurai Goroh pouted as he marched out of the kitchen and into the cafeteria. Who did he think he was, sticking him with the trivial stuff? If anything, it should be him cracking eggs while Guile should be out here stacking English muffins! And what were "Galarian muffins", anyways?! They looked the exact same as English muffins! Was it because he thought he was a bad chef? Well, he couldn't be more wrong! He was great at cooking! He could make vegetable fried rice, chicken soup, and bacon that one time. And if he could cook those three, then making breakfast ought to be a cinch!

Goroh stomped back into the kitchen, slamming the door open. The noise caused Guile to look up from his pan. Lyn and Shadow shot him a dirty look.

"Alright, I put the muffins on the shelves," grouched Goroh. "What else do you need?"

Shadow glanced around the kitchen. "Go help Guile with the eggs." He turned rather brusquely back to his cutting board, chopping sausages.

Samurai Goroh sidled up to the blond man, who eyed him suspiciously, but otherwise made no comment. "So…" began Goroh. "Need any help? Anything?"

Guile made a gruff sound of acknowledgement. "Pass me those eggs," he grunted.

Goroh reached for a carton of eggs and handed a handful of them to Guile, who silently took them. He cracked them over a bowl and began to stir as Goroh watched. Once the whites were gone, Guile poured them into a pan coated with oil. The eggs sizzled as they spread over the pan.

"You gonna put any cheese on there?" asked Goroh.

Guile shook his head. "Don't need any," he said.

"What about garlic? People love it where I'm from."

Again, Guile shook his head. "Don't need that, either."

"What, you're just gonna make it plain?"

"Yup."

Goroh balked. "P-plain?! What, are you nuts?" He reached for a sprig of parsley. "Not even a little garnish?"

"It's breakfast, Goroh, not a fancy five-star dinner," retorted Guile. He flipped over the omelette. "If you want to help, go check on Lyn."

At mention of her name, Lyn glanced up from her pan of pancake batter and scowled at the portly man. Samurai Goroh hesitated. "Uhhh… you sure about that? Doesn't really look like she needs my help."

"Oh, don't worry, don't worry," said an only-slightly-attentive Guile. "You'll be fine. Work with her." Guile turned back to his omelette.

"Um…" Samurai Goroh padded over to Lyn's workstation. She paid him no regards, keeping her eyes laser-focused on the pancake.

Goroh simply stayed silent, letting his eyes wander around the kitchen. Guile had placed another omelette onto a plate, while Shadow was sprinkling black pepper onto a row of sausages. Looking outside the kitchen window, he could see a boy that looked to be about sixteen, with a purple and brown leather tunic and a sword sheathed on his back. The boy took a handful of Galarian muffins and placed them in the toaster.

Goroh turned back to Lyn. "So, Lyn, do you need any help, or…?"

Lyn eyed him with an unreadable expression for a moment, then turned back to the pancake. "I do not," she said curtly.

"…Okay." Goroh paused for a moment. "…You sure? 'Cause, uh, not to brag or anything, but in my line of work, I'm known for being quite handy around the kitchen."

Slowly, Lyn tilted the pan so as to let the pancake slide onto a plate. She stared at Goroh with a gaze hard enough to nearly make him wither. "Your line of work," she echoed, her words coming out laced with thinly-veiled venom. "Tell me, what exactly is it that you do to make a living?"

Goroh hesitated. Somehow, he had a feeling that he was making a big mistake. And yet, like several decisions he had made over the course of his life, he threw caution to the wind and continued down that merry path. "Well," he started, "I'm the chief of a group of intergalactic…" He paused again, seeing Lyn's increasingly scornful face. "…merchants, you see, and we travel from planet to planet looking for—"

"He's a bandit captain," interrupted Guile, not looking up from his own pan.

Lyn's hand—the one that was closest to her blade—twitched.

"Thanks, Guile," grumbled Goroh. "Okay, listen, I'm technically—"

Quick as a flash, Lyn's hand flew to her sword, which she unsheathed and pointed at Goroh. He yelped and leapt backwards, nearly falling on his rear.

Guile put down his pan and stepped between them. "No," came Shadow's voice. "Not now, Lyn."

"It's quite alright," replied Lyn in a frigid tone. Her eyes were trained on the cowering Goroh's. "A bandit, is it?"

"Not necessarily!" explained Goroh, attempting to inch away from Lyn's blade. "I mean, bandit is such an ugly word, we prefer the term 'thief', y'know, it provides a certain roguish charm…" He swallowed hard. "And, y'know, technically, it's only a side gig! Did I mention I'm a racer by trade?" He was beginning to regret not bringing along his own katana.

"I thought you were a bounty hunter," put in Guile.

"Yeah, yeah, that's it! A bounty hunter!" nodded Goroh. "I hunt down other thieves that are worse than me! The guys I boss around, we have a strict policy, 'steal but never kill', and we—"

He was cut off by Lyn's sword drawing ever closer. "I have heard quite enough," she said in a low voice. "I know better than to trust the supposed goodwill of bandits."

Goroh slowly got up, keeping a close eye on Lyn's sword. "Y'know, I'm starting to get the feeling that you guys don't like me."

"We don't," said Shadow, pouring sausages onto a plate and refusing to spare him a glance.

Goroh scowled. "Well, what's with her?" he asked, gesturing at Lyn. "What's she got against band—thieves?"

"That's really none of your business," said Lyn. She glanced over at Shadow. "Pardon me. I have work to do." And with those words, she abruptly turned back to her pan.

Sensing that the confrontation was over, Goroh turned crankily back to his station. "Sheesh! No one gets on Wario's back this much…"

"Now that's an unpleasant thought," joked Guile. He paused, checking to see if Lyn was watching them, and lowered his voice. "Bandits attacked her home. Slaughtered basically everyone she knew and loved. That's why she's so suspicious of bandits."

Goroh started. He opened his mouth, and promptly shut it again. "Yeah, but my gang is different! We at least have a sense of honor!" He chanced a glance at Lyn, who stood stony-faced over her pancakes. He quickly turned back around before she could glare up at him. "Fine. Whatever," he mumbled.

The rest of breakfast preparations mercifully passed without incident. It was just in time that they finished the last breakfast sausage, for most of the Smashers had begun filing in for the most important meal of the day.

"Man, I've got a busy day ahead of me," yawned Falco as he stretched and rubbed the back of his head. He peered down his beak at the plates laid out in neat rows. "Let's see what Kawasaki cooked up for us…"

"Fancy a buckwheat pancake?" asked Lyn, offering a plate.

Falco blinked a few times in response as he jerked his head up, clearly not expecting to hear Lyn's voice. "Whuh? Who're—" The avian paused as his eyes widened in recollection. "Oh, yeah, he's healing up for a while. Yeah, I'll have a pancake or two. Let's hope this is as good as what Kawasaki makes…"

And so, the four assistants served each and every Smasher as they filed into the cafeteria, supplying pancakes, omelettes, breakfast sausages, and other such foodstuffs to, as the Wii Fit Trainer would put it, start off their day right. Even the sudden arrival of King Dedede demanding sevenths was only a minor bump in the road, for Guile had prepared extra omelettes for just such an occasion.

Once the last of the fighters had left the cafeteria, Guile picked up the remaining food and began to load it onto tall wire tray trucks. "How much do we have left?" he asked.

Shadow examined the trays for a moment. "We have enough," he nodded. "Goroh. Bring this up to the other assistants. We're just about done here."

Grumbling, Samurai Goroh wheeled the trucks out of the kitchen and up towards the assistant lounge. As he walked, he spied Captain Falcon posing and "showing his moves", as he was wont to do, in front of a group of enthralled Miis, one of which was wearing a helmet identical to the racer's.

Goroh scowled as he watched the man show off. Blowhard, he thought to himself as he boarded the elevator.

By the time he reached the lounge, some of the other assistants were already awake and active. Dr. Wright, as always, was sitting at the table, studying important-looking documents. Baito was sipping from a mug of coffee labelled "No. 1. Coworker", both Callie and Marie seemed enthralled with their phones, and Dr. Wily was scribbling something down on a notepad, taking furtive glances every so often.

"Breakfast is served," said Samurai Goroh flatly as he pushed the door open. "Hope you like omelettes."

Both Squid Sisters glanced up from their phones, while Dr. Wily hurriedly put his notepad away. "Ah, yes, very good, Goroh," said Dr. Wright as he stood up. "I assume the others are tidying up in the kitchen?"

"Yeah, they are," replied Goroh as he flopped into a chair and took an omelette for himself. "But y'know, they're probably having a miserable time of it, too, since I'm not there to help!"

"Man, that was a great job down there! I can't believe we got done so quickly!"

Guile, Lyn, and Shadow walked into the lounge in high spirits, the former talking animatedly. "Shadow, I had my doubts at first, but you're a pretty good leader. The Air Force could use someone like you."

Shadow merely ran a hand through his quills. "Hmph… I'm not the Ultimate Life Form for nothing."

Lyn walked up to the table, pointedly gripping her sword as she passed Goroh. In her hands, she held the suggestion box from the cafeteria. "And we've received plenty of feedback from the fighters!" She opened the box, letting the slips of paper pour out. Dr. Wright picked one up and began to read it.

Those eggs Benedict were divine!

I dunno what they put on those breakfast sausages, but it was number one!

Buckwheat pancakes tasted almost as good as they looked

No complaints here. Pretty solid meal, all things considered.

Not bad, considering this is their first time filling in for Kawasaki.

My omelette didn't really have much flavor to it; could've used some garnish

"Told you," muttered Samurai Goroh.

Was Samurai Goroh in the kitchen? I didn't think he knew how to cook

"Wh—d'ohhh!" Goroh grouchily snatched the paper out of Dr. Wright's hand and crumpled it up.

"Well, at any rate," said Dr. Wright, "you four did a fine job. Well done."

"Yeah, you see that?" grinned Guile. "We make a pretty good team, am I right, Shadow?"

Shadow said nothing, for he had already left.

"Always a loner, that guy…" Guile shook his head. "Well, we make a pretty good team, am I right, Lyn?"

Lyn nodded. "Indeed. With Shadow's leadership and your talent in the kitchen, it was quite an easy task."

"Maybe," interrupted Goroh, "but if it weren't for my help, you wouldn't have finished nearly as quick!"

The room was silent. Lyn and Guile just gave him unimpressed stares. "At any rate," said Lyn, "I should probably be on my way. I've made plans with Phosphora and Midna. I suppose I'll see you around." She briskly got up and left the lounge, giving Goroh a pointed scowl as she did so.

Guile also got up, stretching his back. "Yeah, I should probably get going, too. Got plenty of training to catch up on. I'll be seeing you." He left, not even giving Goroh a passing glance as he passed through the doorway.

Samurai Goroh huffed. "Jeez! Like I'm no better than Waluigi! Am I really that unpopular around here?"

"Pretty much, yeah," said Marie, not taking her eyes off her phone.

"I like him!" chirped Baito.

"Oh, really?" asked Marie, turning to the rabbit. "Name one thing you like about him."

"Aw, that's an easy one! He… uh…" Baito paused, struggling to think of any positive qualities the man might have. "He… er… he's good with a katana! Yeah, the way he runs around and indiscriminately slashes everything in his path, it's… it's really neat!"

"Ha! See?" snapped Goroh. "I got one guy in my corner! Now I'm on par with Wally!"

Dr. Wright sighed as he tuned out Goroh's boasting. A quick check of his watch told him that it was now ten-thirty in the morning. He supposed that it wouldn't hurt to send out a reminder. Or perhaps was it too early to…? No, better to be two hours early than to be two minutes late. He took out his phone and began to tap out a message.

I think now would be a good time to start planning for lunch…

Chapter Text

"I have wonderful news for you," said Dr. Wright as he stepped lightly into Chef Kawasaki's room in the infirmary. "Breakfast went well."

"Good," Kawasaki exhaled. "That's very good."

Dr. Wright smiled and inclined his head. "Rest assured, lunch will go as smoothly as breakfast did."

"Okay. Great. Good to know."

…

"What?"

"I'm just…" Kawasaki gesticulated with his stubby arms, looking for the right words. "I can't help but worry, is all. I've never been away from the kitchen for this long. I feel like… like they don't quite know. Like, know how to get it right. There's a method."

"And I feel like you're underestimating them," replied Dr. Wright. "They've done and seen things that you wouldn't believe."

"I've done and seen things you wouldn't believe."

"True, true." Dr. Wright shrugged. "But my point still stands. Despite their eclectic origins and… admittedly conflicting ways of life, they are still quite capable. This will not be hard."

"One-two! Jab! Jab! Hit 'em hard! Keep the pressure on!"

Knuckles the Echidna slammed the punching bag with all his might. The chains that mounted it to the ceiling creaked as it flew, swinging back to him with an audible whoosh. He quickly raised his fists to catch it as it pivoted back towards him, then fired off another left hook.

As he continued to pummel the bag, his mind began to wander. He thought of his home, Angel Island, wondering if it was safe in his absence. His thoughts turned to the many days he had spent in isolation guarding the Master Emerald. A shiver went up his spine as he thought of the massive gem, sitting alone and vulnerable on the island. What if Eggman were to help himself to it while he was away?

"Dodge! Uppercut! Feel the burn!"

Knuckles took a calming breath. He quickly sidestepped and struck the punching bag with a vicious uppercut. He remembered the words Master Hand had said to him on the day of orientation.

I assure you, Knuckles, I will personally see to it that the Master Emerald will be safe in your absence… Make no mistake of that…

The echidna frowned as the bag swung back towards him. "Yeah, it better be," he mumbled as he swung at the bag again.

"Ah, excuse me. Knuckles?"

Knuckles stopped swinging at mention of his name. Dr. Wright was standing in the doorway, his face impassive as it was when there was business to be done. In spite of his somewhat short stature and tall green hair, he certainly carried the impression of a serious, but earnest businessman.

This tone lasted for all of three seconds before a small starfish shuffled out from behind him. He waved excitedly upon making eye contact with the echidna. "Hi, Knuckles!"

Knuckles knelt down to bump fists with Starfy. "'Sup, little man." He straightened up to meet Dr. Wright's gaze. "So, whatcha need?"

Dr. Wright hummed as he tapped his clipboard. "Lunch is soon. You and Starfy should report to the kitchen. Ghirahim and Dr. Wily should be there already."

"Right, will do," replied the echidna. "C'mon, Starf, let's get moving." He and Starfy left the training room behind and set off for the kitchen.

The two of them walked down the hall, Knuckles loping along with Starfy toddling right behind him. The sun hung languidly in the sky, the clouds drifting steadily by.

"Hey, Knuckles?" asked Starfy. "Have you ever cooked before?"

Knuckles paused for a brief moment. "Only once," he answered, continuing his walk. "Where I'm from, you can get by pretty easily without cooking if you know where to look."

"Oh." said Starfy. He paused for a moment. "I can't cook, either. Mom says I might get hurt. With all the knives and hot things and stuff."

"Yeah, it can be dangerous if you're not careful," replied Knuckles, thinking back to a time when Amy had tried to help him bake a cake and he had nearly burnt down a portion of the jungle. "But luckily for us, Kawasaki's probably got that place set up, so we should be fine."

"Oh, okay!" The information put a noticeable bounce in Starfy's step. "...So, what are we gonna cook today?"

Knuckles furrowed his brow. "Well, from what Shadow n' Lyn told me, Kawasaki left us a menu to pick from. Prolly we'll find out when we get there."

"Are we gonna make chicken nuggets?" asked Starfy. "I like chicken nuggets."

"I don't know if there's gonna be chicken nuggets, Starf," replied Knuckles, coming to a stop in front of the kitchen door. "But hey, looks like we're about to find out."

Evidently, the two of them were late, for the moment Knuckles pushed the door open, he spotted Dr. Wily and Ghirahim, just by one of the stoves. There was a tension in the air, not like a heated argument had just taken place, but like someone had been publicly admonished. Upon noticing the arrivals, the two straightened up, acting as casually as possible.

Knuckles stopped in the doorway. "Hey," he greeted, rather lamely.

Starfy popped out from behind him. "Hi!" he chirped, much more enthusiastically.

Dr. Wily, evidently a bit thrown by their entrance, cleared his throat and adjusted his tie under his apron. "Ah, yes. Good afternoon."

Ghirahim said nothing at first, but after an overt look from the doctor, he at last complied. "Ugh, fine," he groaned, staring down his nose at Knuckles and Starfy. "Hello, I suppose."

Knuckles frowned, taking a hairnet from the dispenser nearby. It was far too early for this to go to rack and ruin. "So, what're we gonna make today?" he asked.

"Well, someone's all business today," said Ghirahim, taking out a menu with a flourish. "At least some of us have their sense. Yes, I've decided that we're going to make a Hylian meat and rice dish with a roasted beet salad on the side." He glanced over the menu again. "Ooh, tiramisu! That will make a fine dessert!"

"You've decided?" The look of suspicion was plain on the echidna's face. "Just the two of you, without us?"

"It pays to be on time, Knuckles," fired back Dr. Wily, a safe distance away. "Besides, did you have a different suggestion?"

Knuckles' eyes narrowed even further. He glanced down at Starfy, inching closer to him. Nope, still way too early. "Fine. Whaddya want me to do first?"

"You can start," began Wily, "by getting the boar meat from the freezer so we can clean it. And at least try not to dawdle."

"Sirloin, if you please," called Ghirahim.

Stubbornness blazed in Knuckles' chest at Wily's patronizing tone, and his fists clenched. But the sound of Starfy's footsteps tapping towards the meat freezer reminded him, once again, that now was not the time. So he settled for a "Yeah, sure, whatever," as he trudged after him.

A blast of frosty air greeted Knuckles as he swung open the door. Starfy had already made his way to the far end of the freezer, tugging at a packet of frozen meat resting on a shelf.

Or, at least, Starfy was trying to. The packet was almost as big as he was, and, judging by how it barely moved an inch despite his efforts, most likely weighed as much as well.

Sighing, Knuckles lifted the packet off the shelf just as Starfy readied for one more pull. "Well, you managed to find the…" He wrinkled his nose as he read the label. "Water buffalo ribs…? Pretty sure the boar meat's over there."

Loaded up with the correct meat, the two of them walked back into the main kitchen (leaving the meat freezer behind, Knuckles hoped). Once again, that friction from when they first arrived made itself known, smoldering like a bonfire. Dr. Wily in particular was hunched over a drawer, pretending to carefully search through its contents. Ghirahim was nowhere to be seen.

Knuckles cleared his throat. Dr. Wily whirled around, and the tension cleared like it was never there. "Oh, it's… it's you," said the doctor. "Do you have the cuts or not?"

They did, in fact, have the cuts, as evidenced when Knuckles tossed them not-so-gently at the doctor's face. Only a last-minute save kept the packets from dropping on the floor.

"Oh, good, you've found it," said Ghirahim, popping out from behind a counter, bottles of sauces in his hands. He plucked a packet out of Wily's hands and, with a single gloved finger, sliced the plastic wrap open in one fluid motion, allowing its content to fall onto a cutting board. "Whisk these, Albert," he said, tossing the doctor a few bottles and a container of ginger flakes. "While we're doing that, you two," he continued, staring down his nose at Knuckles and Starfy, "can fetch the vegetables we need for the salad. Chop-chop now!"

Starfy plucked a large bowl from a drawer. The echidna, meanwhile, remained unimpressed. "Whatever you say, your majesty," he answered with as much sarcasm he could load into his voice.

Ghirahim was turned away, his focus on the sirloin, but his venomous smile was almost audible. "That's 'my lord' to you, children."

Knuckles opened the produce fridge's door with a little more force. For Knuckles, a little more force meant the door slammed against the wall, causing the shelves to shake and an avocado to nearly topple from its perch.

"Vegetables, vegetables, what do we got…" His jaw ached from how hard his teeth were grit. He tried to focus on getting the right vegetables and placing them into Starfy's bowl, but his mind kept drifting back to those two.

The echidna had faced more than his fair share of irritating foes (a certain bald, mustachioed roboticist sprung to mind), but these two pushed his buttons like no one else had. In between Ghirahim's nigh-constant air of superiority and the naked disdain he held for everyone present, it was a wonder how anything was going to get done. And there was something craven present in Wily's eyes and demeanor that Knuckles did not like at all. The way his teeth flashed in a grin as he unleashed a barrage of beams and missiles from the comfort of a machine, or the way he scowled at others when he thought no one was looking reminded him far, far too much of Eggman. He was a slimeball, through and through. At least Eggman had some vaguely resembling noble traits, buried deep under everything else.

…Ugh. That felt gross to admit, even privately. He tossed a head of lettuce at Starfy's bowl, the vegetable rolling around the rim before coming to rest at the center.

Knuckles wondered, for a moment, what would happen if the two doctors were to meet. Would they try to conquer the world together? Would their differences be too much, to the point that they'd rather destroy everything around them than cooperate?

A sudden chill ran up his spine, and he quickly made himself stop thinking about that. He threw the next beet at the bowl a little harder than he'd liked, the vegetable bouncing off the rim and landing in Starfy's stubby hands.

"Alright, that's all of 'em," declared Knuckles, a little louder than he'd liked. "C'mon, Starf, let's go."

It was oddly silent when he turned to go. There was no sound of footsteps following after him. Knuckles' hand rested on the door handle, but he did not turn it. Slowly, he turned back around.

Starfy was still standing there, bowl full of vegetables in his hands, but he was looking at him differently.

"What? What is it?"

Starfy swallowed. "Are… are you okay?" he asked, timidly. "You look upset."

The tone of the star's voice was enough to give him pause. "I, uh…"

"Is it about Mr. Ghirahim?"

Dang. "Ah… Er… yeah. Him and Wily," he admitted.

"It's okay." Starfy gave (or tried to give) Knuckles a comforting pat on the knee. "I don't like him either. He's a bully."

"Don't I know it," said Knuckles. "Believe me, I have no patience for people like that."

"Yeah!" pouted Starfy. "He just… he thinks he's better than everyone else! And he's mean about it, too!"

"Right?" Knuckles crossed his arms. "Exactly like Waluigi."

"No!" Starfy shook his head with such force the rest of his body shook with him. "Nuh-uh! Mister Waluigi is different. He's my friend!"

The echidna could only stare blankly at him. "…Why?" he asked. "He's a jerk."

"No!" Starfy repeated, punctuated by a stomp of his foot. "Mister Wario is his friend, and my friend, too. So, Mister Waluigi is my friend!"

Knuckles blinked. He'd understood that Starfy was a… space case, as it were, but this… "Listen, Starf, I get the whole 'don't judge a book by its cover' thing, but… really? Him?"

"Yeah!" The look in Starfy's eyes was clear: Yes. Of course, him. Who else?

"I…" Knuckles decided, for the third time that day, this was not something worth pursuing. "Y'know what, fine. We're just as capable ourselves. Come on, little man."

When they walked back into the kitchen, Ghirahim had already started searing the boar, carefully turning it over on the griddle and letting the smoke waft to the ceiling. To his left, Dr. Wily busied himself gathering spices and gingerly (almost reluctantly, Knuckles would say) placing them next to Ghirahim.

"Alright," Knuckles announced, "I got your vegetables. What now?"

"Marvelous," said Ghirahim, not bothering to turn around from the griddle. "Give those to Albert, if you would."

Starfy passed the vegetables on, setting the bowl on the table with a rather loud clang that made the doctor jump. "What do we do now?" he asked.

Now Ghirahim turned around, making a show of rolling his eyes. "Oh, for heavens' sakes…" he sighed, letting his eyes lazily scan the room. "I suppose you can start getting the ladyfingers from the fridge."

Starfy blinked. "Lady's… fingers?"

The demon lord's eye rolled again, accompanied by a groaning growl of impatience. "For pity's sake, child, ladyfingers. The boudoir biscuits that form the very foundation of tiramisu! Did you even read the menu? They should be in the dairy fridge, on the left. And please, try not to get lost."

An image of a blue hedgehog, hands on hips, sprang to mind just as Knuckles stepped forward to take the first swing. Easy, Knux. He squeezed his fist and slowly reined himself in. "Fine," he ground out. "We'll handle it ourselves."

The dairy fridge's door swung open, slamming against the wall and causing crates of milk to quake where they stood. Knuckles stomped towards a large cabinet located at the far end. Scanning it over, he snatched two boxes of ladyfingers, tossing one over his shoulder to Starfy, and stormed right back out.

Ghirahim did not look up from his griddle. "Oh look, you've finally gotten them," he drawled.

"Yeah, yeah, we got 'em," gruffed Knuckles. Starfy was still there, he had to remember. "Hey, y'know what? You can do whatever you're doing on your side, and Starfy and I will handle the dessert by ourselves, alright?"

The demon lord shrugged. "Fine by me." Beside him, Dr. Wily made a grunt of assent.

"It better be fine," ground out Knuckles. He laid out the ladyfingers in front of him. To his right, the menu showed a picture of tiramisu. Below it was a short paragraph.

A velvety mélange of ladyfinger biscuits dipped in an espresso or hot chocolate, layered with delicately sweetened whipped eggs and mascarpone cheese, and topped with a dusting of cocoa powder.

Knuckles stared at the ladyfingers on the counter. The ladyfingers stared back. The eggs, mascarpone cheese, and cocoa powder did not.

"Oh, for the love of—"

A carton of eggs clattered onto the counter and into Knuckles' vision, with enough force that he instinctively put his hand on them to stop them from moving any further. A container of cream cheese followed suit, followed by a carton of milk, then a can of whipped cream, with a bag of cocoa powder bringing up the rear. For a brief infuriating moment, Knuckles thought that it was Ghirahim, casually, passive-aggressively giving him the remaining ingredients that he forgot, lording his supposed superiority over him once again—

"I got the stuff!"

Knuckles looked down and to his left. Starfy smiled agreeably at him.

Oh.

Well.

Okay then.

"...Ah," said Knuckles after a moment. He felt his fists unclench. "Yeah. Thanks, Starf."

Starfy beamed, and tossed a big, heavy book onto the counter, sending up particles of dust that Knuckles hoped was not dust. "So how do we start?" he asked.

"That's a good question," said Knuckles, nodding his head and definitely not stalling for time because he had no idea where to start. "Let's crack open the book and see what we got."

After a few seconds of flipping, they found the page detailing the process of making tiramisu. Mercifully, it was a no-bake recipe. Less mercifully, it was a no-bake recipe that took much longer than they thought it would have.

But Knuckles was nothing if not persistent (to a fault, Sonic might say). This was just another obstacle to be overcome. And, he liked to think, no one was better at overcoming obstacles than he was.

"Alright," Knuckles announced, clapping his hands together. "You wanna do this with coffee or hot chocolate?"

"Chocolate!" Starfy chirped, hopping up and down on the spot.

Knuckles grinned. "Figured you'd like that. You see that cocoa powder? Gonna need you to mix that with some milk and boil it on the stove." He tossed the star creature a whisk. "Think you can handle that?"

Starfy nodded with such force he nearly toppled over and immediately set to work, whisking away at the cocoa powder with all the restraint of a child given a new toy.

Knuckles nodded and turned back to the eggs. Picking up an egg, he tapped it against the edge of the bowl and let its contents pour out inside. The rest of its brothers soon followed. For some reason, he imagined one of the eggs with a pair of glasses and a bushy mustache. He cracked that one with a little more force. "Pass me the sugar."

A shaker was dropped into his hand, and he gave a grunt of gratitude in response. The sugar was shaken into a measuring cup, then back into the bowl, and was whisked into the mixture. Knuckles lifted the whisk out, thin ribbons of the blend dripping down, and poured it into a bigger bowl. Setting aside the eggs, he picked up a napkin and began wiping down the bowl he'd used to mix them.

Knuckles reached over Starfy's bowl for the cream cheese, trying to avoid getting hit by his whisk with how hard he was mixing the cocoa powder, and began mixing that as well, dusting sugar on top once the peaks began to form. He sprayed a bit of whipped cream in and took to mixing again.

…Right as a bit of chocolate splattered into the bowl.

Starfy, at least, looked just as surprised as Knuckles did, if not more so. "Uhhh… is that good enough?"

Knuckles' face smoothed out into an expression of fond exasperation. "Yeah, it's good enough."

Once the cream was properly mixed and set aside and the milk was put on the stove to boil, the echidna took the chance to glance over at Ghirahim and Dr. Wily. They did not return the courtesy, being too occupied with the griddle. That suited him just fine.

"Alright, Starf," said Knuckles, "you got the ladyfingers ready?"

"Ready!" Starfy plucked two of the biscuits out of the box.

Knuckles nodded, taking the milk off the stove. "First, you gotta dip the ladyfingers in the milk, and layer 'em out into the bowl." He watched Starfy dunk a biscuit into the milk and fish it out a few moments later, dropping it into the bowl with a plop. The routine continued, each biscuit soaking in the chocolate before lining the bottom of the bowl with two layers of soggy, spongy cookies.

"Alright," said Knuckles, nodding sagely. He placed the cream in front of them. "Now, you gotta take the cream and spread it over the ladyfingers in an even layer. Here, I'll show you."

Whispers, sharp and scornful, seized Knuckles' attention. Snapping his head up, he saw Ghirahim cutting the meat with a knife, and speaking—hissing, rather—in Doctor Wily's ear. From the way Wily cringed and backed away, sweat beading on the back of his head, he was clearly on the receiving end of quite a tongue-lashing.

Knuckles frowned at the sight. Definitely too much like Eggman.

"They're bullies," said a little star voice beside him.

Knuckles blinked, looking down at Starfy. "Yeah, I know. Pass me that knife."

The next layer of ladyfingers was placed by Starfy's careful stubs. Watching him go allowed Knuckles to calm down a bit. Man… he'd been in a bad mood ever since he stepped foot in the kitchen. He willed himself to stop thinking about Ghirahim and Wily altogether.

Just one more layer of cream to go. So far, so good. Put the—

"And yet still, you haven't?!"

Never mind.

"Everything okay over there?" called Knuckles.

"Oh, we're fine!" said Ghirahim, the false cheer in his voice as plain as the nose on his face. "Don't worry about us!"

Knuckles wasn't about to start worrying about them… but he certainly wasn't going to take his eyes off them, either. Something was up, and he needed to know.

Putting a hand on Starfy's head to get his attention, Knuckles cast a look at Ghirahim and Wily, pointing a thumb at them for good measure. Starfy seemed to understand, keeping his eyes on them as he sprinkled cocoa powder on the cream.

"I'll ask again," whispered Ghirahim. "What on earth is keeping you?"

"I've been trying!" hissed Wily. Neither Knuckles nor Starfy could see his face, but they were sure his eyes were darting to and fro. "I've been sending him to do it, but he keeps getting stopped at every opportunity!"

Ghirahim's scowl was almost audible. "You've used that excuse before, haven't you? Oh, let me guess: a lizard stopped him, or something?" The demon lord leaned in close (too close), and his voice dropped to a low growl. "I've done my waiting. I've been waiting for years!"

'Ha—have you now?" managed a tentative Wily. "Because it's only been—"

Ghirahim immediately fixed him with a look, a look that, again, neither Knuckles nor Starfy could really get a good look at, but could still feel the effects of. It was the kind of look that caused great men to buckle at the knees, and lesser men to run for the hills. Wily, whose status in this sense tended to fluctuate, could only stammer and gape like a middle-aged fish. At least this time he kept quiet.

"Let me make one thing clear," began Ghirahim, his voice low and hard as steel. "The only reason I haven't intervened on your behalf is because I was promised a golden opportunity… if I am patient. But right now…"

Ghirahim plunged his knife into the boar flank with a thick schuk, the knife sticking into the cutting board.

"…as you can see, my patience has worn rather thin."

Dr. Wily stood rooted to the spot, silently gasping for air. Starfy leaned in closer.

'I've warned you once before," continued Ghirahim, "I'm warning you again: if you botch this for me, before I am given my chance…"

"You guys good over there?" asked Knuckles, a bit louder.

Both of them jumped, Wily's surprise much more exaggerated than Ghirahim's. "Oh, ah, don't you worry about us," said Wily once he had regained his bearings. "Just a little chinwag between…" And here, Wily's words seemed to catch on his tongue, stubbornly refusing to come forth, retreating to the back of his throat, a lump beginning to form, raising Knuckles' already-heightened suspicions, until, at last, he grit out, through teeth that threatened to crack from stress— "Ffffriends."

Ghirahim was much more succinct in his response. "Mind your business, child."

At this point, Knuckles was too exhausted, both from the surprisingly taxing experience of making tiramisu with giant gloves on, and from Ghirahim and Wily's attitudes to get truly angry. So he only managed an eyeroll and a "Yeah, whatever," as he sprinkled the last of the cocoa powder on the cream.

"But nevertheless," announced Ghirahim with a clap of his hands, "everything is done, finally. Thanks to my leadership, of course. Albert!" He clapped his hands again, making the doctor snap to attention. "Be a dear and load these onto the carts so we can serve everyone." He turned and gazed loftily down at Knuckles and Starfy. "And you two, you can put the tiramisu in the fridge. For your sake, you'd better not let it spoil."

The food now properly stocked, the demon lord and the roboticist pushed the carts out of the kitchen. Neither Ghirahim nor Wily made any eye contact with Knuckles and Starfy, but they could feel Wily's eyes on them as the double doors closed behind them.

A long, tense sigh escaped Knuckles' chest. "Well, that could've gone a lot better," he muttered.

"They're bullies," Starfy declared.

"You can say that again," said Knuckles.

"They're bullies," Starfy declared again.

Knuckles gave him a weary look. He really should've seen that coming. He took out the plastic wrap and cut a large swathe from the roll.

"But… but what were they talking about earlier?" asked Starfy, tottering over to the echidna. "What was Ghirahim waiting for?"

"I'm not sure," answered Knuckles after a pause. The tiramisu was placed safely in the fridge. "But Wily was definitely keeping him from doing it. And he's been sending… someone to do it, so that Ghirahim can get whoever promised him a chance at something."

"But who would make a promise with them?" asked Starfy to the room.

Knuckles paused, and rested a hand under his chin. "That," he began slowly, "I'm not too sure of."

Truthfully, Knuckles had no idea who could feasibly promise Ghirahim anything that could get him to work with anyone. As sadistic and flashy as he was, he didn't strike the echidna as the type to really get along with anyone. Unless… maybe Ridley? No, that could never work. At least Wily was easy to read.

I've been trying… I've been sending him to do it, but he keeps getting stopped at every opportunity!

Knuckles' furrowed brow melted away as his eyes went wide.

I've been sending him to do it…

Maybe… Could he have possibly…?

No, the Hands would have caught them by now…

But then, came that doubtful voice in his head, even for those that can seemingly do anything, something is bound to slip through the cracks… You should know that.

"He's got a spy."

Starfy blinked, tossed out of whatever ruminations on Ghirahim had gotten his mind turning. "What?"

"He's got a spy," repeated Knuckles. "Or, maybe not a spy, but like a sidekick, and they're trying to… to…" And there he stopped, because for all of his recollection of that conversation, and reasoning that sprung from that, he still had no idea of what, exactly, Ghirahim and Dr. Wily were planning to do.

"They're gonna do something," finished Starfy. "Something bad."

Knuckles nodded soberly. It was the same conclusion he had reached in accuracy. At least they were on the same wavelength. "I dunno what it is they're gonna do, but I'm gonna settle it."

No sooner had the words left Knuckles' tongue than he was stomping towards the door, fists clenched. The little tip-tip-tip of Starfy's footsteps came up behind him.

"We gotta do something!" Starfy's eyes sparkled with resolve, his stubby hands clenched into equally stubby fists. "We gotta find out what they're gonna do! Together!"

The echidna stopped just short of shoving the door open. He stared down at the little star, whose eyes shone just like… well, stars. Every time he blinked, his fists seemed to clench even tighter.

Knuckles had intended to go after Ghirahim and Wily alone. Key word alone. He didn't mind working with other people—working with Tiki to take care of Pokémon quickly sprang to mind— but when the chips were down, he really did prefer to do things by himself. (Independent since his first breath, as it were.) But something about the way Starfy gazed up at him gave him pause. He really did seem to want to help. And something deep within Knuckles told him he was going to need all hands on deck… no matter how small.

…Was this how Sonic felt when he first met Tails?

"Alright," Knuckles announced. "We're gonna find out their spy, and we're gonna find what Ghirahim and Wily are up to, together." He knelt down and held out his fist. "You in?"

Starfy nodded, the rest of his body moving along with the force. "I'm in!"

The resulting painful fist bump was the price to pay for the inception of a new alliance.

Chapter Text

If there were only two words to describe Dr. Wright as he strolled into the clinic, they would be cautiously ebullient.

Ebullient, in that the stack of small papers in his hands were yet another indication that everything in the kitchen was going smoothly. There was nothing quite as reassuring as good feedback, he always believed. (That, and the word optimistic didn't quite feel right.)

Cautiously, in that for as much feedback as the chefs had received, they were not out of the woods just yet. There was, after all, still dinner to take care of. And who knew how long Chef Kawasaki would be bedridden?

That caution was what made Dr. Wright put on an extra burst of speed, his strides a little longer, his shoes clack-clack-clacking against the sheet vinyl as he opened the door.

Chef Kawasaki groggily opened his eyes as Dr. Wright stepped into the room. Evidently, he must have been resting. His heart gave a painful twist.

"Is lunch over already?" asked the chef.

Dr. Wright nodded. "Hylian meat and rice bowl with roasted beets, and tiramisu for dessert. See, look." He took out one of the papers from the stack. "The boar was beyond heavenly. I need that recipe since yesterday."

"Since… yesterday?" Kawasaki blinked. "What… how does that even work?"

"It's… it's, uh, it's a colloquialism that the youth uses to… never mind." A slightly nervy Dr. Wright put away the reviews. "The important part is that we're almost through the day! Only dinner is left now."

"Dinner…" Kawasaki lay his head flat on the pillow and stared impassively at the ceiling.

…

…

"You're still worried, aren't you?"

Kawasaki turned his head to face Dr. Wright. "How can I not be? It's dinner! It's the most important meal of the day!"

"Isn't that breakfast?"

"It's the other most important meal of the day! Dinner is where all the memories are made! It's the big recap of the day! It's the last thing you eat before you go to bed! Of course it's important! I'm not sure—"

"I'm sure," interrupted Dr. Wright, "that you're underestimating them again. I've recruited four of our finest to make dinner this evening."

Kawasaki only looked partially convinced. "Mmm."

"And I—ah, excuse me one moment." The buzzing of Dr. Wright's phone caught his attention, and he pulled it out to frown at it. The cold white glow of the device reflected off his glasses, and his mustache twitched in displeasure as he tapped at the screen.

"What?" asked Kawasaki, catching the twitch of his eye. "What is it?"

"Hmm? Oh, ah, it's nothing." Dr. Wright's face smoothed over into calm geniality. "Just that one of those four is running a bit late." He sighed with soft, wistful exasperation. "But as I said, these are four of the finest. How could this possibly go wrong?"

It only occurred to Yuri Kozukata when she was halfway to the kitchen that her culinary expertise was rather lacking.

Not that she was necessarily a bad chef, no. Quite the opposite, actually! She could make tossed salad, fried rice, rice balls, and tea. The only thing was… well, those were the only things she could really make.

But, she supposed, that was okay. Kawasaki left a menu, so there was bound to be something she could cook. There was that nice fish dish she'd had the other day, the one with the lemon garlic herb sauce. The buttery flesh that practically fell off the bone, the slight tang hidden underneath… Ooh! Or those honey glazed carrots from Hyrule! Their inherent sweetness, brought to the fore by the honey… And the cinnamon…!

…Well, if Yuri wasn't hungry before, she certainly was now. Good thing she'd finally reached the kitchen.

As Dr. Wright had told her, the Sablé Prince and Alucard were waiting for her. It appeared she had been keeping them waiting for quite some time, as the prince was in the middle of regaling Alucard with an impressive tale of his exploits. From the looks of it, Alucard was unimpressed as usual. Or… maybe he was? It was hard to tell with him.

The Sablé Prince smiled warmly upon hearing Yuri's footsteps, not noticing Alucard breathing a small sigh of relief. "Well met, Miss Kozukata," he greeted, bowing deeply.

Yuri, who was twice the Sablé Prince's height, and roughly twice his age, she couldn't quite tell, had to wrestle her lips shut with all of her willpower to hide her smile, and the tiny giggle that threatened to burst forth. Heaven only knew how he'd react to that. "Good evening, Your Highness," she replied, managing a passable curtsy.

The Sablé Prince nodded, then turned to Alucard with a clap of his hands. "Alright!" he announced. "That's three of us accounted for. All that's left is our substitute, yes?"

Yuri blinked. "The—the what? Substitute?"

Whatever instruction the Sablé Prince was about to give died on his lips as he turned back to face Yuri, brows drawn together. "The… the substitute," he repeated. "Did Dr. Wright not tell you?"

"Riki had a… family emergency to attend to," explained Alucard. "Someone else will be assisting us in his stead."

Frowning, Yuri dug around in her pocket for her phone. Sure enough, a little envelope glowed in the corner of the screen.

Dr. Wright % today at 3:34 PM

Family emergency came up with regards to Riki. Currently looking for a substitute. Will keep you posted.

Yours,

Dr. Wright

And then, just below:

Dr. Wright % today at 5:25 PM

Found a substitute, even if it was fairly last-second and less than ideal, to be frank. Luckily, I managed to pry her out of her room. She's currently enroute as I write.

Yours,

Dr. Wright

Yuri made a mental note to remind him that texts were not the same thing as letters. "Who is—"

"We don't know," replied Alucard. "Your guess is as good as ours, I'm afraid."

All three of them paused to compile a list of the assistants they knew. Dr. Wright had said that she was coming, and that she was reluctant. Perhaps it was Phosphora, dragged away from whatever she had planned and tempted by the promise of a greater pay. Or maybe it was Nikki? It'd be a miracle if he'd managed to pry her away from the mailroom for that long.

…One of the Squid Sisters? Better hope seafood wasn't on the menu. Perhaps—

Once again, fate decided to play a joke on the assistants. The door swung open, letting in a cold, dry gust of wind that sent shivers down the spines of everyone currently present. Comforting warm light spilled in from the hallways, juxtaposed by the decidedly disquieting silhouette that stood in the doorway.

"Oh," croaked the Sablé Prince, tugging at his collar. "Oh, dear."

The short stature narrowed the list of suspects down a great deal, but the twin pigtails were a dead giveaway. Really, they should have known from the moment they read Dr. Wright's message.

Last-second. Prying her out of her room.

It was Ashley.

The Sablé Prince broke the silence first. "H-hail and well met, Miss Ashley," he stammered delicately.

Ashley stared stolidly back at the prince. It was quite impressive, the speed at which his face drained of color.

Alucard, who was now only a shade or two paler than the Sablé Prince, stepped forward. "I'm glad to see that you made it in time," he said.

Again, Ashley spared no response to the dhampir. "What are we making today?" she asked, marching straight past him.

"Aw, come on, Ashley!" came a voice. The scepter in the girl's hand rattled and shook, and Red appeared in a puff of red smoke. "Don'tcha want to at least say hi to your fellow cooks?"

"No," said Ashley.

The Sablé Prince's eyes briefly flicked to Yuri in a silent plea for help. In turn, she glanced at Alucard for any sort of support. All she got from him was a silent raise of his eyebrows and a tilt of his head towards the little witch: Your turn.

Yuri swallowed. This was going to be crucial. Taking a deep breath, she began, "We were just about to decide, actually. Does pan-fried Basculin sound good to everybody?"

"I dunno what Basculin is, but it sounds great!" Red had already flitted to the counter and snatched up a cookbook. His eyes grew wider as he scanned down the list, Ashley reading along over his shoulder. "Ohoho! Crumb-stuffed Super Mushrooms and…" He flipped through a couple more pages. "...Sunshroom salad! Anyone?"

A general murmur of agreement spread through the kitchen. They had heard both Mario and Princess Peach sing praises for the dish on multiple occasions.

Red nodded and shut the book with a thud, rubbing his hands in delight. "Alright! Where do they keep 'em?"

"Well, they, um…" The Sablé Prince cleared his throat. "According to Chef Kawasaki, they should be in the produce fridge, on the… on the left."

Ashley had started walking towards said fridge from the word produce. The door swung open, and Ashley disappeared inside.

Silence, awkward and heavy like snow boots two sizes too big, filled the room. Yuri coughed.

Red slowly turned to the rest of the group, wringing his trident in his hand. "Listen, uh… don't take it too personally when it comes to her. Ashley's kind of… reserved around other people. She's really not so bad when you get to know her!"

"If I recall correctly," said the Sablé Prince, "didn't she turn Pit into an eggplant for misremembering her name?"

"Uh." Red tapped his fingers together. "That was… that was only one time, though."

"Wasn't she the one that released the Rathalos that same day?" asked Yuri.

"Yes," said Alucard. "The eastern tower nearly collapsed. They only recently finished repairs on it."

All eyes turned to Red, who stammered as his tongue tripped over his words. "O-one time!"

The fridge door swung back open, and Ashley stomped back out, bundles of red mushrooms, bell peppers, and onions in her hands. The Sablé Prince cleared his throat and straightened up like he hadn't been talking about her behind her back.

Alucard, known master of timing, took the opportunity to announce, "I'm going to get the Parmesan." He disappeared into the dairy fridge, his cape fluttering behind him.

Yuri and the Sablé Prince shared a glance, neither of them willing to look directly at Ashley. Yuri did consider that it was a bit silly to be intimidated by someone half her size and probably a third of her age, but… there was something so intense in her eyes. Ashley was what, six? She was pretty sure she was six. It was just so unnerving.

Mercifully, Alucard was not gone long, returning with canisters of Parmesan in each hand. "I assume that would be everything we need?"

Red scanned over the list again. "Sure looks like it! A mouthwatering mushroom medley's on the menu tonight!"

"Never say that again," said Ashley.

Red ignored her. "Let's get cooking!"

"Very well," announced the Sablé Prince, clearing his throat. "Alucard and I shall prepare the peppers, onions, and salad. Yuri and Ashley can begin sautéing the mushrooms."

"Um, uh, Your Highness, may I speak to you for a moment?" When the Sablé Prince beckoned Yuri closer, her voice changed to a sweet, barely-patient whisper. "Why am I working with Ashley?"

"Because I am positive she detests me," responded the prince in kind. Years of finishing school had prepared him to handle conversations like these with nothing less than the utmost grace and decorum. "She'd sooner hex me or turn me into a frog. Besides, the two of you share certain…" He gestured at the witch staring into a pot, then back at Yuri, "…themes with each other!"

"'Themes'? What themes? And can't you already do that?"

"A worm, then!" An impatient stamp of his foot, and years of finishing school went out the window. "Make it work!" The prince stormed off in a decidedly huffy tone one takes when they've just escaped danger by the seat of one's pants.

Yuri could only sigh as she watched the prince go. She'd heard that he had an impetuous streak, but it was still agitating to see it in person, especially now. Once again, Yuri turned to Alucard in an appeal for help. If she interpreted what the Sablé Prince said correctly, then Alucard would surely share the same themes as Ashley, right?

Alucard did not help. In fact, Alucard did not even notice, for he was too busy chopping peppers. Wonderful. Well, she might as well give it the old college try, as it were. What could go wrong?

Slowly, with all the caution of a mouse carrying a hunk of cheese on its back as it tread past a sleeping cat's tail, Yuri sidled over to Ashley, who was busying herself wiping down the mushrooms.

"Ashley," began Yuri neutrally, placatingly. The young witch glared up at her from under her eyebrows, an act that didn't quite make Yuri jump out of her skin, but was still enough to sting, somehow. "Do you… do you need any help with those mushrooms?"

"No," Ashley said.

"Oh, okay." Silence reigned, and with nothing else to do, Yuri picked up a mushroom and began wiping it down with a cloth of her own. She glanced over at the cookbook to read the instructions.

Carefully clean the mushrooms with a wet paper towel and remove the stems, leaving the caps whole.

Finely chop the mushroom stems. Saute caps in three tablespoons of the melted butter until tender. Transfer to a plate and set aside.

Yuri stared at the Super Mushroom in her hands. The Super Mushroom stared right back. Yuri allowed herself to wonder, for a brief moment, if the mushrooms found in their eponymous kingdom were sentient. They had eyes, didn't they? But then, so did everything in the Mushroom Kingdom—even the hills. And then Toad…

"Y'know," said Red, bringing Yuri back to reality, "I wonder if these mushrooms can think."

Yuri glanced at the demon. He was floating there, trident in one hand, and Super Mushroom in the other, examining at arms' length, like any true thespian. "Welp, I've used weirder ingredients!" Red brought the knife down with all the force he could muster, getting the knife stuck and failing to actually separate the stem from the cap.

Ashley took the partially-split mushroom and removed the stem with a sigh, picking up the knife and chopping the stem. Yuri, who had nearly forgotten where she was, opted instead to twist and pull the stem off. (Eyes facing away, of course. Heaven help her if this thing could feel pain.)

The mushroom preparation continued in silence… at least, between the two girls. Behind them, the Sablé Prince and Alucard were chatting animatedly between themselves. Or, to be more accurate, the Sablé Prince was chatting animatedly with Alucard, and Alucard was patiently listening.

The only thing Ashley was listening to was the quick, sharp sound of the knife chop, chop, chopping against the board, and Red's occasional inquiries on which spice to sprinkle on next. It was unbearable.

'Certain themes', eh? Well, it was worth a shot.

"So, um, Ashley," began Yuri. Ashley leveled her usual detached stare at her, which was a good start. "So, you're a witch, huh?"

"...Yeah." Ashley turned back to her mushrooms.

"You, um… do a lot of spells?"

This time, Ashley's glare was hard with exasperation. "I don't do spells, I cast them. And yes, I cast a lot of spells."

"What kinds of spells?"

"Oh, you know: changing the size of people's pants, teleporting into books, growing giant man-eating plants, summoning demons… y'know, kid stuff."

Yuri did not consider summoning demons to be 'kid stuff'. "I can talk to ghosts," she said.

Ashley stopped chopping mushrooms. She turned to Yuri, her attention captured and her eyes wide. "Really?" she whispered.

"Really?" parroted Red behind her.

Yuri nodded. So far, so good. This clearly raised her in Ashley's estimates a great deal. "I can see the memories of ghosts when they were alive."

Ashley's eyes sparkled (itself a rare occurrence), with Red's practically becoming bioluminescent (itself frighteningly plausible). "How?!" asked Red. "How do you do it? I wanna learn!"

And down Yuri came. It was time for the explanation. She looked down at Ashley's expectant, eager (for once) face. If this dinner was to go well, she thought with a sigh, she may as well. And seeing Ashley so enthused, finally… the young witch deserved this, she supposed. "When I was young," she began, haltingly, "I was in a traffic accident with my family. I was… I was the only survivor."

The lights in Red's eyes went out with an abrupt, audible click. "Oh," he said at last. "I, um… I see."

Yuri suppressed the frown that came to her. The sympathetic looks people gave her got really tiring after a while. At least here, there were no hushed whispers behind her back when they thought she couldn't hear them.

Ashley, for her part, gave her no such sympathies, only staring at her with childlike curiosity. "Is that why you can talk to ghosts? A near-death experience?"

Yuri swallowed as she stared back into Ashley's eyes. It was certainly a direct way to describe it. "Yeah, pretty much," she said simply.

"Cool…" Ashley turned back to the mushroom caps, turning them over in the pan. She poked at them idly, eyes clouded over in thought.

Red caught on almost immediately. "Absolutely not!" he said, bopping the young witch on the head with a ladle. "It was bad enough with the Rathalos! We are not doing that again!"

"Fine. Whatever," said Ashley, but there was no annoyance behind her words. In fact, it might have been a trick of the light, but Yuri thought she saw the flicker of something resembling amusement in Ashley's eyes.

"You guys done with the stuffing?" called out Red to the cooks behind him, reminding both Yuri and Ashley that they existed.

"Almost there!" called the Sablé Prince. "Do you have any cayenne pepper left?"

"Hold on, I gotcha." Red fluttered over to them, a canister of pepper in hand. The two girls were left alone.

Ashley took out a canister of her own and began to pour its grainy contents into the empty mushroom caps. Yuri gave a quiet sigh. Behind them, the chatter of Red and the Sablé Prince blended with the hissing of their pans.

When Yuri looked back down, Ashley was staring right at her.

"…What is it?"

"I didn't know you could talk to ghosts," Ashley almost whispered. What little light reflected in her dark red eyes sparkled. "With that camera, I mean. That's so cool."