Round One: Veterans and Newcomers


A lot has changed since that day. This old place, once humble, has grown immensely, with more stores and intergalactic flight services to accommodate the rising tourist and commuter population. Demand for local products, especially Pikpik carrots, have skyrocketed, leading to demand for more workers. The economy in the past year alone has thrived; finding a job is no longer such a chore.

Olimar is returning from his latest errand, a trip to Koppai to drop off some carrots. Even more than the improving economic state is the surprise by how seamlessly he can communicate with the locals—few cultural and lingual barriers exist between them. Which is a boon for Hocotatian society, as Koppai has become one of its biggest customers. Who would've thought they were in such dire straits just a couple of years ago?

But now's not the time to think about Koppai. It's been a long week, flying to and from Koppai, and after all that, the last thing he needs to think about is work. He turns his attention to the family photo hanging on the wall. "Honey, I'm home," he announces with a chuckle. The laughter dies down as he crashes back into reality. Another lonely evening.

A year after his last disastrous trip to PNF-404, he left on another lengthy task, and came back to an empty home, with the dreadful news written on a note left on the table. His wife, normally patient and tolerant, got sick of waiting and left, bringing their two kids with her. A day hasn't passed by without thinking about them.

After finishing dinner, Olimar showers, changes into some comfortable nightclothes, and settles down to sift through his mail. Bills, junk, spam. Nothing worth his immediate concern. "Hmm?"

One letter stands out from the mess of meaningless envelopes. There's no return address, no stamp, just his name and a wax stamped seal. The seal marking is a circle with an off-center cross dividing it into four unequal segments. He's seen this seal once before, a seemingly long time ago. Trembling with anticipation, he opens it.

To Capt. Olimar:

HI THERE!

You have been invited to the fourth Super Smash Bros. Tournament. As you are aware by now, this is a grand competition which grants many rewards for success in combat. Because you were a past combatant, you are granted priority access in our roster, should you choose to participate.

After receiving complaints from some of our participants, we have made necessary changes under the pretense of making this our best event thus far. By signing this letter, you agree to these changes and will be expected to participate.

We hope you would consider entering.

HaVE a NiCe DAY! :DDDD

~ Master Hand AND CRAZY HAND

The elegant calligraphy and colorful scrawl is unmistakable. The puppet master and his right, er, left-hand man are at it again. Olimar is far from financial ruin, but the promise of great wealth tempts him. Even more than that, it provides him with a release from the emptiness and stress of mundane life. Swiping a nearby pen, he hastily signs his name on the letter.

Very early the next morning, Olimar is awakened by an ear-piercing noise, indescribable to the human—or Hocotatian—mind. At the foot of his bed is a shadowy form, tall and skeletal. He tries to get away from it, but its long arms reach out and grab him by the ankle, pulling him into its void.

He blinks, his vision and consciousness clearing up, then slowly gets himself up off the ground. Before him is a tall skyscraper, with the emblematic orb adorned on its front doors. The Smash Tower. The doors open, and he strides inside.

Though plain-looking on the outside, the Tower's interior changes with each event. Last time, it was classically detailed and almost gaudy. This time, it is simple, yet modern in design. Seeing the steel-lined walls reminds him of the inside of his own ship, the SS Dolphin. It takes him a moment to realize he is absolutely lost.

"Hey, are you Oliver?" Olimar turns around and looks up. A young man in boxing gear is standing beside him. He's definitely taller than him, but not by much.

"It's Olimar, actually. But yes, that's me." How he can communicate flawlessly with someone from another world has never been explained well; he believes the Tower holds an inherent ability to instantly translate speech into a universal language of sorts. "You're Li'l Mac, aren't you? The Assist Trophy?" He doesn't remember quite everything about the last tournament, especially the part-time helpers summoned into battle.

"The one and only. But I got a promotion. I'll be fighting alongside everyone as an actual Smasher! Ain't that neat?"

He pauses for a moment before giving a smirk. "I'm sure you'll be a great fighter."

Mac chuckles sheepishly. "Thanks. That means a lot, comin' from you." He glances left and right. "Hey, you think you can show me around? I'm kinda lost."

"I doubt I can help much. The place has changed a lot since I was here last." He stares at the long hallway. "Well, better start somewhere."

The two of them travel down the halls, chatting about all sorts of things: home, life, and of course, fighting. "Me and the others were watching you guys fight last year. Been looking up the tier lists, too. I still can't get over how awesome you are!"

Olimar is flustered to hear mention of the tier lists. "Me? Awesome? Oh, no, that's just exaggeration. I'm not all that great."

"Are you kidding me? People are saying you're like an impenetrable fortress with Pokeman sentries and guards. You can probably top Meta Knight if you wanted to!"

"Trust me, no one can top Meta Knight." Where does he even hear this stuff? "What's with all the admiration, anyway?"

Li'l Mac shoots a grin. "Cuz you're like me: small, but powerful. Us underdogs gotta stick together, right?"

Before Ollie can reply, they hear loud noises coming from a pair of doors nearby. A sign above them reads 'CAFETERIA'. "Let's see what the fuss is about." Knowing from experience, he can only think of one suspect. Pushing the door open, he raises his voice, tone stern, "Hey, you better not be making a mess... Kirby?"

The culprit stops in their tracks. It is small and round like Kirby, but that's where the similarities end. It's like if Kirby turned yellow, then sprouted arms and legs and a nose. The oddity looks at Olimar with curiosity, then smiles widely and charges towards him, losing its limbs and facial features in the process.

It chases the both of them across the labyrinthine hallways. Mac spots a door and drags Olimar inside, where they hide from the rampaging yellow thing. Once it's gone for sure, he sighs in relief. "Man, what was that thing?"

"I don't know," Ollie pants. "But that is definitely not Kirby."

Catching their breath, they stop to examine their surroundings. Gym mats and exercise equipment are laid across the floor, and on the end, a few familiar faces are stretching in sync with an ivory-skinned woman in blue. "Strange. When did they hire a fitness trainer?"

The woman stops posing and turns to face them. "Oh, good day," she says with a subtle accent. "Are you here for the class?"

Olimar shakes his head. "Me? Oh, nonono. We were just—"

"Got room for one more?" Li'l Mac interrupts with enthusiasm. The Hocotatian doesn't bother to stop him as he takes off his gloves and follows the trainer's lead.

At the same time, a two-dimensional silhouette in the shape of a cartoonish man steps off its mat and lets him by. It then turns its attention to Olimar, pointing at itself with a beep. Olimar says, "Hold on, you heard our conversation?" The 2D man nods and beeps. "Then you know what we're talking about, right?" It nods again and summons from thin air a small, round shape opening and closing its mouth. "Yes, exactly like that." It makes more beeps and movements; encrypting its gestures takes little effort. "So his name is 'Pac-Man', and he's an old friend of yours?" Another nod. "Great! Do you think you can stop him?" It rubs its tummy and gives a low boop. "Oh, I see. Well, thank you very much."

The two of them out and they begin their search. Through their cooperation, they manage to clear the entire bottom floor, with no luck. Then, just as they are about to turn and head back, they hear a distant sound.

WAKA-WAKA-WAKA-WAKA-WAKA-WAKA-WAKA-WAKA...

The sound grows in volume as a far-off yellow dot edges closer, its mouth getting bigger and bigger as it rushes towards them. Just as it gets within range of Olimar, the flat man steps in front of him and summons a frying pan to toss strips of bacon in its direction. The dot stops and turns back to its two-legged self to gulp up the meat strips. A huge smile on its face, Pac-Man runs over to embrace the flat man, and they both create a joyous ruckus. The captain tries in vain to block the noise out as he walks away.

Traveling up to the second floor, he takes a moment to look at his hand. When he regained consciousness, he was already wearing his space suit and blown up from his minuscule size to a more practical height. It was a process he went through the last time he competed, but still not something he is used to. Time and time again, he has tried to come up with an explanation for such incidences. But in the end, the only conclusion is that whatever is powering the Smash Tournaments simply defies physics.

The second floor is normally where the dormitories are located, and this time is no exception. The layout, thankfully, has not changed much, with each room evenly spaced from each other. However, Olimar has noticed that there are two names labeled beside each door, a diversion from last time. After a great deal of walking, he finally finds his name, just above someone called 'Alph'.

He barges into the room, eyes wide like saucers. Scanning the room, he finds two beds, a nightstand, and a blue-haired Koppaite. Upon noticing Olimar, the Koppaite chirps in excitement, "Oh, sir, it's you! I didn't expect to see you here. Isn't this great? We're both gonna be in the biggest event of a lifetime!"

Blinking, Olimar replies, "I, er, wasn't expecting you. I got the invitation, but it never said anything about newcomers." Then again, he used to be one himself. "How did you get invited?"

"Through the mail, silly! My invitation said I was recommended by you. Now here I am!"

He takes off his helmet and scratches his bald head. "I did?" He does vaguely recall writing Alph's name on one or two documents, but those weren't related to the Smash Tournament... were they? "I mean, have you met any of the others?"

"I met Li'l Mac earlier. I told him I was looking for you, and he showed me around. Sorta. He doesn't have the best sense of direction. I also met Captain Falcon and Samus. The Captain doesn't look like an astronaut, though." He frowns. "Everyone here's so tall and different and strange; it's making me nervous."

Olimar cracks a wry smile. "It's scary at first, but you get used to it. Just be yourself, and you'll make friends." He hears a knock on the door. "Who is it?"

The voice on the other side of the door answers, "It's me, Li'l Mac. Wanna watch the first match with me?"

A match already? He glances at Alph before speaking. "Um, sure. Mind if I bring along a friend?"


Round One Post-Script


Pac-Man and Mr. Game-and-Watch stroll happily, excited about the upcoming match. They chat about "the good ol' days", asking what the other has been up to since the last time they met. But the longer they walk, the more unaware they are of their surroundings, until they hit a dead end. Mr. GW looks around, slowly coming to terms with the fact that they are hopelessly lost.

Pac-Man suggests going one way. GW suggests another. They squabble over which way to go, then make a compromise. They decide to part ways, promising to meet up later.

Mr. Game-and-Watch walks down the pathway he chose, still getting used to the Tower's new layout. The number of rooms have expanded greatly, providing more options for the increasingly diverse cast, but comes at the price of expanding the rest of the building as well. His chances of arriving on time are very, very slim.

As he travels down one particular hallway, the colors start to change. The walls, normally a sleek silvery white, suddenly transition into a burst of reds and oranges. GW, intrigued by the fiery hues, reaches over to touch them. A stinging, burning sensation strikes his two-dimensional hand, forcing it to recoil in pain. Whatever this paint is made of, it's unfit for any Smasher to make contact with.

Further down, he spots a bluish figure wielding a paintbrush. Upon closer examination, it looks like... 'Mario?' GW could only catch a glimpse before the figure disappears, making him question himself.


Author's Note: Breaking the action briefly to introduce myself. I am Sullen, and this is my second big writing project, alongside Snipes 'n' Shells. This story was inspired by the 3DS version after its release, but will incorporate elements of the Wii-U version in time. Also, I am very, very biased towards the characters I play as, thus the premise. With that said, I hope you will enjoy what DI has in store for you!